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MARYO*-.         .5! 


G  ET  TING 
MARRIED 


.  WITH  PREFACE 

By 

BERNARD    SHAW 


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NEW  YORK 

BRENTANO'S 

1920 


Copyright,  1909,  by  Brentano* 


Copyright,  1911,  by  Q.  Bernard  Shaw 


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GETTING  MARRIED 
XVII 


1  vwyM 


i 


»f 


N.B.— There  is  a  point  of  some  technical  interest  to  be 
noted  in  this  play.  The  customary  division  into  acts 
and  scenes  has  been  disused,  and  a  return  made  to  unity 
of  time  and  place,  as  observed  in  the  ancient  Greek  drama. 
In  the  foregoing  tragedy,  The  Doctor's  Dilemma,  there 
are  five  acts ;  the  place  is  altered  five  times ;  and  the 
time  is  spread  over  an  undetermined  period  of  more 
than  a  year.  No  doubt  the  strain  on  the  attention  of 
the  audience  and  on  the  ingenuity  of  the  playwright  is 
much  less ;  but  I  find  in  practice  that  the  Greek  form 
is  inevitable  when  drama  reaches  a  certain  point  in 
poetic  and  intellectual  evolution.  Its  adoption  was  not, 
on  my  part,  a  deliberate  display  of  virtuosity  in  form, 
but  simply  the  spontaneous  falling  of  a  play  of  ideas 
into  the  form  most  suitable  to  it,  which  turned  out  to 
be  the  classical  form.  Getting  Married,  in  several  acts 
and  scenes,  with  the  time  spread  over  a  long  period, 
would  be  impossible. 


A 


PREFACE    TO    GETTING    MARRIED 
The  Revolt  against  Marriage 

There  is  no  subject  on  which  more  dangerous  nonsense 
is  talked  and  thought  than  marriage.     If  the  mischief 
stopped  at  talking  and  thinking  it  would  be  bad  enough; 
but  it  goes  further,  into  disastrous  anarchical  action.    Be- 
cause our  marriage  law  is  inhuman  and  unreasonable  to 
the  point  of  downright  abomination,  the  bolder  and  more 
rebellious   spirits   form   illicit  unions,   defiantly  sending 
cards  round  to  their  friends  announcing  what  they  have 
done.    Young  women  come  to  me  and  ask  me  whether  I 
think  they  ought  to  consent  to  marry  the  man  they  have 
decided  to  live  with;  and  they  are  perplexed  and  aston- 
ished when  I,  who  am  supposed   (heaven  knows  why!) 
to  have  the  most  advanced  views  attainable  on  the  sub- 
ject, urge  them  on  no  account  to  compromize  themselves 
without  the  security  of  an  authentic  wedding  ring.    They 
cite  the  example  of  George  Eliot,  who  formed  an  illicit 
union    with    Lewes.      They   quote   a    saying   attributed 
to  Nietzsche,  that  a  married  philosopher  is  ridiculous, 
though  the  men  of  their  choice  are  not  philosophers. 
When  they  finally  give  up  the  idea  of  reforming  our  mar- 
riage   institutions    by    private    enterprise    and    personal 
righteousness,  and  consent  to  be  led  to  the  Registry  or 
even  to  the  altar,  they  insist  on  first  arriving  at  an  ex- 
plicit understanding  that  both  parties  are  to  be  perfectly 
free  to  sip  every  flower  and  change  every  hour,  as  their 
fancy  may  dictate,  in  spite  of  the  legal  bond.    I  do  not 


6  Getting  Married 

observe  that  their  unions  prove  less  monogamic  than  other 
people's:  rather  the  contrary,  in  fact;  consequently,  I  do 
not  know  whether  they  make  less  fuss  than  ordinary  peo- 
ple when  either  party  claims  the  benefit  of  the  treaty; 
but  the  existence  of  the  treaty  shews  the  same  anarchical 
notion  that  the  law  can  be  set  aside  by  any  two  private 
persons  by  the  simple  process  of  promising  one  another 
to  ignore  it.  ' 

Marriage  Nevertheless  Inevitable 

Now  most  laws  are,  and  all  laws  ought  to  be,  stronger 
than  the  strongest  individual.  Certainly  the  marriage 
law  is.  The  only  people  who  successfully  evade  it  are 
those  who  actually  avail  themselves  of  its  shelter  by  pre- 
tending to  be  married  when  they  are  not,  and  by  Bohe- 
mians who  have  no  position  to  lose  and  no  career  to  be 
closed.  In  every  other  case  open  violation  of  the  mar- 
riage laws  means  either  downright  ruin  or  such  inconve- 
nience and  disablement  as  a  prudent  man  or  woman 
would  get  married  ten  times  over  rather  than  face.  And 
these  disablements  and  inconveniences  are  not  even  the 
price  of  freedom;  for,  as  Brieux  has  shewn  so  convinc- 
ingly in  Les  Hannetons,  an  avowedly  illicit  union  is  often 
found  in  practice  to  be  as  tyrannical  and  as  hard  to  es- 
cape from  as  the  worst  legal  one. 

We  may  take  it  then  that  when  a  joint  domestic  estab- 
lishment, involving  questions  of  children  or  property,  is 
contemplated,  marriage  is  in  effect  compulsory  upon  all 
normal  people ;  and  until  the  law  is  altered  there  is  noth- 
ing for  us  but  to  make  the  best  of  it  as  it  stands.  Even 
when  no  such  establishment  is  desired,  clandestine  irregu- 
larities are  negligible  as  an  alternative  to  marriage. 
How  common  they  are  nobody  knows ;  for  in  spite  of  the 
powerful  protection  afforded  to  the  parties  by  the  law 
of  libel,  and  the  readiness  of  society  on  various  other 


Preface  7 

grounds  to  be  hoodwinked  by  the  keeping  up  of  the  very 
thinnest  appearances,  most  of  them  are  probably  never 
suspected.  But  they  are  neither  dignified  nor  safe  and 
comfortable,  which  at  once  rules  them  out  for  normal  de- 
cent people.  Marriage  remains  practically  inevitable; 
and  the  sooner  we  acknowledge  this,  the  sooner  we  shall 
set  to  work  to  make  it  decent  and  reasonable. 

c 

What  does  the  Word  Marriage  Mean 

However  much  we  may  all  suffer  through  marriage, 
most  of  us  think  so  little  about  it  that  we  regard  it  as  a 
fixed  part  of  the  order  of  nature,  like  gravitation.  Ex- 
cept for  this  error,  which  may  be  regarded  as  constant, 
we  use  the  word  with  reckless  looseness,  meaning  a  dozen 
different  things  by  it,  and  yet  always  assuming  that  to 
a  respectable  man  it  can  have  only  one  meaning.  The 
pious  citizen,  suspecting  the  Socialist  (for  example)  of 
unmentionable  things,  and  asking  him  heatedly  whether 
he  wishes  to  abolish  marriage,  is  infuriated  by  a  sense  of 
unanswerable  quibbling  when  the  Socialist  asks  him  what 
particular  variety  of  marriage  he  means:  English  civil 
marriage,  sacramental  marriage,  indissoluble  Roman 
Catholic  marriage,  marriage  of  divorced  persons,  Scotch 
marriage,  Irish  marriage,  French,  German,  Turkish,  or 
South  Dakotan  marriage.  In  Sweden,  one  of  the  most 
highly  civilized  countries  in  the  world,  a  marriage  is  dis- 
solved if  both  parties  wish  it,  without  any  question  of 
conduct.  That  is  what  marriage  means  in  Sweden.  In 
Clapham  that  is  what  they  call  by  the  senseless  name  of 
Free  Love.  In  the  British  Empire  we  have  unlimited 
Kulin  polygamy,  Muslim  polygamy  limited  to  four  wives, 
child  marriages,  and,  nearer  home,  marriages  of  first 
cousins:  all  of  them  abominations  in  the  eyes  of  many 
worthy  persons.  Not  only  may  the  respectable  British 
champion  of  marriage  mean  any  of  these  widely  different 


8  Getting  Married 

institutions ;  sometimes  he  does  not  mean  marriage  at  all. 
He  means  monogamy,  chastity,  temperance,  respectabil- 
ity, morality,  Christianity,  anti-socialism,  and  a  dozen 
other  things  that  have  no  necessary  connection  with  mar- 
riage. He  often  means  something  that  he  dare  not  avow : 
ownership  of  the  person  of  another  human  being,  for  in- 
stance. And  he  never  tells  the  truth  about  his  own  mar- 
riage either  to  himself  or  any  one  else. 

With  those  individualists  who  in  the  mid-XIXth  cen- 
tury dreamt  of  doing  away  with  marriage  altogether  on 
the  ground  that  it  is  a  private  concern  between  the  two 
parties  with  which  society  has  nothing  to  do,  there  is  now 
no  need  to  deal.  The  vogue  of  "  the  self -regarding  ac- 
tion "  has  passed ;  and  it  may  be  assumed  without  argu- 
ment that  unions  for  the  purpose  of  establishing  a  family 
will  continue  to  be  registered  and  regulated  by  the  State. 
Such  registration  is  marriage,  and  will  continue  to  be 
called  marriage  long  after  the  conditions  of  the  registra- 
tion have  changed  so  much  that  no  citizen  now  living 
would  recognize  them  as  marriage  conditions  at  all  if  he 
revisited  the  earth.  There  is  therefore  no  question  of 
abolishing  marriage ;  but  there  is  a  very  pressing  question 
of  improving  its  conditions.  I  have  never  met  anybody 
really  in  favor  of  maintaining  marriage  as  it  exists  in 
England  to-day.  A  Roman  Catholic  may  obey  his 
Church  by  assenting  verbally  to  the  doctrine  of  indis- 
soluble marriage.  But  nobody  worth  counting  believes 
directly,  frankly,  and  instinctively  that  when  a  person 
commits  a  murder  and  is  put  into  prison  for  twenty  years 
for  it,  the  free  and  innocent  husband  or  wife  of  that  mur- 
derer should  remain  bound  by  the  marriage.  To  put  it 
briefly,  a  contract  for  better  for  worse  is  a  contract  that 
should  not  be  tolerated.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  is  not  tol- 
erated fully  even  by  the  Roman  Catholic  Church ;  for  Ro- 
man Catholic  marriages  can  be  dissolved,  if  not  by  the 
temporal  Courts,  by  the  Pope.     Indissoluble  marriage  is 


Preface  9 

an  academic  figment,  advocated  only  by  celibates  and  by 
comfortably  married  people  who  imagine  that  if  other 
couples  are  uncomfortable  it  must  be  their  own  fault,  just 
as  rich  people  are  apt  to  imagine  that  if  other  people  are 
poor  it  serves  them  right.  There  is  always  some  means 
of  dissolution.  The  conditions  of  dissolution  may  vary 
widely,  from  those  on  which  Henry  VIII.  procured  his 
divorce  from  Katharine  of  Arragon  to  the  pleas  on  which 
American  wives  obtain  divorces  (for  instance,  "  mental 
anguish  "  caused  by  the  husband's  neglect  to  cut  his  toe- 
nails) ;  but  there  is  always  some  point  at  which  the  the- 
ory of  the  inviolable  better-for-worse  marriage  breaks 
down  in  practice.  South  Carolina  has  indeed  passed 
what  is  called  a  freak  law  declaring  that  a  marriage  shall 
not  be  dissolved  under  any  circumstances;  but  such  an 
absurdity  will  probably  be  repealed  or  amended  by  sheer 
force  of  circumstances  before  these  words  are  in  print. 
The  only  question  to  be  considered  is,  What  shall  the 
conditions  of  the  dissolution  be? 


Survivals  of  Sex  Slavery 

If  we  adopt  the  common  romantic  assumption  that  the 
object  of  marriage  is  bliss,  then  the  very  strongest  rea- 
son for  dissolving  a  marriage  is  that  it  shall  be  disagree- 
able to  one  or  other  or  both  of  the  parties.  If  we  accept 
the  view  that  the  object  of  marriage  is  to  provide  for  the 
production  and  rearing  of  children,  then  childlessness 
should  be  a  conclusive  reason  for  dissolution.  As  neither 
of  these  causes  entitles  married  persons  to  divorce  it  is 
at  once  clear  that  our  marriage  law  is  not  founded  on 
either  assumption.  What  it  is  really  founded  on  is  the 
morality  of  the  tenth  commandment,  which  English- 
women will  one  day  succeed  in  obliterating  from  the 
walls  of  our  churches  by  refusing  to  enter  any  building 
where  they  are  publicly  classed  with  a  man's  house,  his 


10  Getting  Married 

ox,  and  his  ass,  as  his  purchased  chattels.  In  this  mo- 
rality female  adultery  is  malversation  by  the  woman  and 
theft  by  the  man,  whilst  male  adultery  with  an  unmarried 
woman  is  not  an  offence  at  all.  But  though  this  is  not 
only  the  theory  of  our  marriage  laws,  but  the  practical 
morality  of  many  of  us,  it  is  no  longer  an  avowed  moral- 
ity, nor  does  its  persistence  depend  on  marriage;  for  the 
abolition  of  marriage  would,  other  things  remaining  un- 
changed, leave  women  more  effectually  enslaved  than 
they  now  are.  We  shall  come  to  the  question  of  the  eco- 
nomic dependence  of  women  on  men  later  on;  but  at 
present  we  had  better  confine  ourselves  to  the  theories  of 
marriage  which  we  are  not  ashamed  to  acknowledge  and 
defend,  and  upon  which,  therefore,  marriage  reformers 
will  be  obliged  to  proceed. 

We  may,  I  think,  dismiss  from  the  field  of  practical 
politics  the  extreme  sacerdotal  view  of  marriage  as  a 
sacred  and  indissoluble  covenant,  because  though  rein- 
forced by  unhappy  marriages  as  all  fanaticisms  are  rein- 
forced by  human  sacrifices,  it  has  been  reduced  to  a  pri- 
vate and  socially  inoperative  eccentricity  by  the  introduc- 
tion of  civil  marriage  and  divorce.  Theoretically,  our 
civilly  married  couples  are  to  a  Catholic  as  unmarried 
couples  are:  that  is,  they  are  living  in  open  sin.  Practi- 
cally, civilly  married  couples  are  received  in  society,  by 
Catholics  and  everyone  else,  precisely  as  sacramentally 
married  couples  are ;  and  so  are  people  who  have  divorced 
their  wives  or  husbands  and  married  again.  And  yet 
marriage  is  enforced  by  public  opinion  with  such  ferocity 
that  the  least  suggestion  of  laxity  in  its  support  is  fatal 
to  even  the  highest  and  strongest  reputations,  although 
laxity  of  conduct  is  winked  at  with  grinning  indulgence; 
so  that  we  find  the  austere  Shelley  denounced  as  a  fiend 
in  human  form,  whilst  Nelson,  who  openly  left  his  wife 
and  formed  a  menage  a  trois  with  Sir  William  and  Lady 
Hamilton,  was  idolized.     Shelley  might  have  had  an  ille- 


\ 


Preface  11 

gitimate  child  in  every  county  in  England  if  he  had  done 
so  frankly  as  a  sinner.  His  unpardonable  offence  was 
that  he  attacked  marriage  as  an  institution.  We  feel  a 
strange  anguish  of  terror  and  hatred  against  him,  as 
against  one  who  threatens  us  with  a  mortal  injury.  What 
is  the  element  in  his  proposals  that  produces  this  effect? 
The  answer  of  the  specialists  is  the  one  already  alluded 
to:  that  the  attack  on  marriage  is  an  attack  on  property; 
so  that  Shelley  was  something  more  hateful  to  a  husband 
than  a  horse  thief:  to  wit,  a  wife  thief,  and  something 
more  hateful  to  a  wife  than  a  burglar:  namely,  one  who 
would  steal  her  husband's  house  from  over  her  head,  and 
leave  her  destitute  and  nameless  on  the  streets.  Now,  no 
doubt  this  accounts  for  a  good  deal  of  anti-Shelleyan 
prejudice:  a  prejudice  so  deeply  rooted  in  our  habits 
that,  as  I  have  shewn  in  my  play,  men  who  are  bolder 
freethinkers  than  Shelley  himself  can  no  more  bring 
themselves  to  commit  adultery  than  to  commit  any  com- 
mon theft,  whilst  women  who  loathe  sex  slavery  more 
fiercely  than  Mary  Wollstonecraft  are  unable  to  face  the 
insecurity  and  discredit  of  the  vagabondage  which  is  the 
masterless  woman's  only  alternative  to  celibacy.  But  in 
spite  of  all  this  there  is  a  revolt  against  marriage  which 
has  spread  so  rapidly  within  my  recollection  that  though 
we  all  still  assume  the  existence  of  a  huge  and  dangerous 
majority  which  regards  the  least  hint  of  scepticism  as  to 
the  beauty  and  holiness  of  marriage  as  infamous  and  ab- 
horrent, I  sometimes  wonder  why  it  is  so  difficult  to  find 
an  authentic  living  member  of  this  dreaded  army  of  con- 
vention outside  the  ranks  of  the  people  who  never  think 
about  public  questions  at  all,  and  who,  for  all  their  nu- 
merical weight  and  apparently  invincible  prejudices,  ac- 
cept social  changes  to-day  as  tamely  as  their  forefathers 
accepted  the  Reformation  under  Henry  and  Edward,  the 
Restoration  under  Mary,  and,  after  Mary's  death,  the 
shandygaff  which  Elizabeth  compounded  from  both  doc- 


12  Getting  Married 

trines  and  called  the  Articles  of  the  Church  of  England. 
If  matters  were  left  to  these  simple  folk,  there  would 
never  be  any  changes  at  all;  and  society  would  perish 
like  a  snake  that  could  not  cast  its  skins.  Nevertheless 
the  snake  does  change  its  skin  in  spite  of  them ;  and  there 
are  signs  that  our  marriage-law  skin  is  causing  discom- 
fort to  thoughtful  people  and  will  presently  be  cast 
whether  the  others  are  satisfied  with  it  or  not.  The  ques- 
tion therefore  arises:  What  is  there  in  marriage  that 
makes  the  thoughtful  people  so  uncomfortable? 


The  New  Attack  on  Marriage 

The  answer  to  this  question  is  an  answer  which  every- 
body knows  and  nobody  likes  to  give.  What  is  driving 
our  ministers  of  religion  and  statesmen  to  blurt  it  out  at 
last  is  the  plain  fact  that  marriage  is  now  beginning  to 
depopulate  the  country  with  such  alarming  rapidity  that 
we  are  forced  to  throw  aside  our  modesty  like  people 
who,  awakened  by  an  alarm  of  fire,  rush  into  the  streets 
in  their  nightdresses  or  in  no  dresses  at  all.  The  ficti- 
tious Free  Lover,  who  was  supposed  to  attack  marriage 
because  it  thwarted  his  inordinate  affections  and  pre- 
vented him  from  making  life  a  carnival,  has  vanished 
and  given  place  to  the  very  real,  very  strong,  very  austere 
avenger  of  outraged  decency  who  declares  that  the  licen- 
tiousness of  marriage,  now  that  it  no  longer  recruits  the 
race,  is  destroying  it. 

As  usual,  this  change  of  front  has  not  yet  been  noticed 
by  our  newspaper  controversialists  and  by  the  suburban 
season-ticket  holders  whose  minds  the  newspapers  make. 
Theyjstill  defend  the  citadel  on  the  side  on  which  nobody 
is  attacking  it,  and  leave  its  weakest  front  undefended. 

The  religious  revolt  against  marriage  is  a  very  old  one. 
Christianity  began  with  a  fierce  attack  on  marriage ;  and 


Preface  18 

to  this  day  the  celibacy  of  the  Roman  Catholic  priesthood 
is  a  standing  protest  against  its  compatibility  with  the 
higher  life.  St.  Paul's  reluctant  sanction  x>f  marriage; 
his  personal  protest  that  he  countenanced  it  of  necessity 
and  against  his  own  conviction ;  his  contemptuous  "  bet- 
ter to  marry  than  to  burn  "  is  only  out  of  date  in  respect 
of  his  belief  that  the  end  of  the  world  was  at  hand  and 
that  there  was  therefore  no  longer  any  population  ques- 
tion. His  instinctive  recoil  from  its  worst  aspect  as  a 
slavery  to  pleasure  which  induces  two  people  to  accept 
slavery  to  one  another  has  remained  an  active  force  in 
the  world  to  this  day,  and  is  now  stirring  more  uneasily 
than  ever.  We  have  more  and  more  Pauline  celibates 
whose  objection  to  marriage  is  the  intolerable  indignity 
of  being  supposed  to  desire  or  live  the  married  life  as 
ordinarily  conceived.  Every  thoughtful  and  observant 
minister  of  religion  is  troubled  by  the  determination  of 
his  flock  to  regard  marriage  as  a  sanctuary  for  pleasure, 
seeing  as  he  does  that  the  known  libertines  of  his  parish 
are  visibly  suffering  much  less  from  intemperance  than 
many  of  the  married  people  who  stigmatize  them  as  mon- 
sters of  vice. 

A  Forgotten  Conference  of  Married  Men 

The  late  Hugh  Price  Hughes,  an  eminent  Methodist 
divine,  once  organized  in  London  a  conference  of  re- 
spectable men  to  consider  the  subject.  Nothing  came  of 
it  (nor  indeed  could  have  come  of  it  in  the  absence  of 
women)  ;  but  it  had  its  value  as  giving  the  young  sociolo- 
gists present,  of  whom  I  was  one,  an  authentic  notion  of 
what  a  picked  audience  of  respectable  men  understood  by 
married  life.  It  was  certainly  a  staggering  revelation. 
Peter  the  Great  would  have  been  shocked;  Byron  would 
have  been  horrified;  Don  Juan  would  have  fled  from  the 
conference  into  a  monastery.     The  respectable  men  all 


14  Getting  Married 

regarded  the  marriage  ceremony  as  a  rite  which  absolved 
them  from  the  laws  of  health  and  temperance;  inaugu- 
rated a  life-long  honeymoon;  and  placed  their  pleasures 
on  exactly  the  same  footing  as  their  prayers.  It  seemed 
entirely  proper  and  natural  to  them  that  out  of  every 
twenty-four  hours  of  their  lives  they  should  pass  eight 
shut  up  in  one  room  with  their  wives  alone,  and  this,  not 
birdlike,  for  the  mating  season,  but  all  the  year  round 
and  every  year.  How  they  settled  even  such  minor  ques- 
tions as  to  which  party  should  decide  whether  and  how 
much  the  window  should  be  open  and  how  many  blankets 
should  be  on  the  bed,  and  at  what  hour  they  should  go 
to  bed  and  get  up  so  as  to  avoid  disturbing  one  another's 
sleep,  seemed  insoluble  questions  to  me.  But  the  mem- 
bers of  the  conference  did  not  seem  to  mind.  They  were 
content  to  have  the  whole  national  housing  problem 
treated  on  a  basis  of  one  room  for  two  people.  That  was 
the  essence  of  marriage  for  them. 

Please  remember,  too,  that  there  was  nothing  in  their 
circumstances  to  check  intemperance.  They  were  men 
of  business:  that  is,  men  for  the  most  part  engaged  in 
routine  work  which  exercized  neither  their  minds  nor 
their  bodies  to  the  full  pitch  of  their  capacities.  Com- 
pared with  statesmen,  first-rate  professional  men,  artists, 
and  even  with  laborers  and  artisans  as  far  as  muscular 
exertion  goes,  they  were  underworked,  and  could  spare 
the  fine  edge  of  their  faculties  and  the  last  few  inches  of 
their  chests  without  being  any  the  less  fit  for  their  daily 
routine.  If  I  had  adopted  their  habits,  a  startling  dete- 
rioration would  have  appeared  in  my  writing  before  the 
end  of  a  fortnight,  and  frightened  me  back  to  what  they 
would  have  considered  an  impossible  asceticism.  But 
they  paid  no  penalty  of  which  they  were  conscious. 
They  had  as  much  health  as  they  wanted:  that  is,  they 
did  not  feel  the  need  of  a  doctor.  They  enjoyed  their 
smokes,  their  meals,  their  respectable  clothes,  their  affec- 


Preface  15 

tionate  games  with  their  children,  their  prospects  of 
larger  profits  or  higher  salaries,  their  Saturday  half 
holidays  and  Sunday  walks,  and  the  rest  of  it.  They 
did  less  than  two  hours  work  a  day  and  took  from  seven 
to  nine  office  hours  to  do  it  in.  And  they  were  no  good 
for  any  mortal  purpose  except  to  go  on  doing  it.  They 
were  respectable  only  by  the  standard  they  themselves 
had  set.  Considered  seriously  as  electors  governing  an 
empire  through  their  votes,  and  choosing  and  maintaining 
its  religious  and  moral  institutions  by  their  powers  of 
social  persecution,  they  were  a  black-coated  army  of  ca- 
lamity. They  were  incapable  of  comprehending  the  in- 
dustries they  were  engaged  in,  the  laws  under  which  they 
lived,  or  the  relation  of  their  country  to  other  countries. 
They  lived  the  lives  of  old  men  contentedly.  They  were 
timidly  conservative  at  the  age  at  which  every  healthy 
human  being  ought  to  be  obstreperously  revolutionary. 
And  their  wives  went  through  the  routine  of  the  kitchen, 
nursery,  and  drawing-room  just  as  they  went  through  the 
routine  of  the  office.  They  had  all,  as  they  called  it,  set- 
tled down,  like  balloons  that  had  lost  their  lifting  margin 
of  gas;  and  it  was  evident  that  the  process  of  settling 
down  would  go  on  until  they  settled  into  their  graves. 
They  read  old-fashioned  newspapers  with  effort,  and 
were  just  taking  with  avidity  to  a  new  sort  of  paper, 
costing  a  halfpenny,  which  they  believed  to  be  extraordi- 
narily bright  and  attractive,  and  which  never  really  suc- 
ceeded until  it  became  extremely  dull,  discarding  all  seri- 
ous news  and  replacing  it  by  vapid  tittle-tattle,  and  sub- 
stituting for  political  articles  informed  by  at  least  some 
pretence  of  knowledge  of  economics,  history,  and  consti- 
tutional law,  such  paltry  follies  and  sentimentalities, 
snobberies  and  partisaneries,  as  ignorance  can  under- 
stand and  irresponsibility  relish. 

What   they   called   patriotism   was    a   conviction   that 
because  they  were  born  in  Tooting  or  Camberwell,  they 


16  Getting  Married 

were  the  natural  superiors  of  Beethoven,  of  Rodin,  of 
Ibsen,  of  Tolstoy  and  all  other  benighted  foreigners. 
Those  of  them  who  did  not  think  it  wrong  to  go  to  the 
theatre  liked  above  everything  a  play  in  which  the  hero 
was  called  Dick;  was  continually  fingering  a  briar  pipe; 
and,  after  being  overwhelmed  with  admiration  and  affec- 
tion through  three  acts,  was  finally  rewarded  with  the 
legal  possession  of  a  pretty  heroine's  person  on  the 
strength  of  a  staggering  lack  of  virtue.  Indeed  their 
only  conception  of  the  meaning  of  the  word  virtue  was 
abstention  from  stealing  other  men's  wives  or  from  re- 
fusing to  marry  their  daughters. 

As  to  law,  religion,  ethics,  and  constitutional  govern- 
ment, any  counterfeit  could  impose  on  them.    Any  atheist 
could  pass  himself  off  on  them  as  a  bishop,  any  anarchist 
as  a  judge,  any  despot  as  a  Whig,  any  sentimental  social- 
ist as  a  Tory,  any  philtre-monger  or  witch-finder  as  a 
man  of  science,  any  phrase-maker  as  a  statesman.    Those 
who  did  not  believe  the  story  of  Jonah  and  the  great  fish 
were  all  the  readier  to  believe  that  metals  can  be  trans- 
muted and  all  diseases  cured  by  radium,  and  that  men 
can  live  for  two  hundred  years  by  drinking  sour  milk. 
Even  these  credulities  involved  too  severe  an  intellectual 
effort  for  many  of  them:  it  was  easier  to  grin  and  believe 
nothing.     They  maintained  their  respect  for  themselves 
by  "  playing  the  game  '"  (that  is,  doing  what  everybody 
else  did),  and  by  being  good  judges  of  hats,  ties,  dogs, 
pipes,  cricket,  gardens,  flowers,  and  the  like.     They  were 
capable  of  discussing  each  other's  solvency  and  respecta- 
bility with  some  shrewdness,  and  could  carry  out  quite 
complicated   systems   of  paying  visits   and   "  knowing " 
one  another.     They  felt  a  little  vulgar  when  they  spent 
a  day  at  Margate,  and  quite  distinguished  and  travelled 
when  they  spent  it  at  Boulogne.     They  were,  except  as 
to  their  clothes,  "  not  particular  " :  that  is,  they  could  put 
rip  with  ugly  sights  and  sounds,  unhealthy  smells,  and 


Preface  17 

inconvenient  houses,  with  inhuman  apathy  and  callous- 
ness. They  had,  as  to  adults,  a  theory  that  human  nature 
is  so  poor  that  it  is  useless  to  try  to  make  the  world  any 
better,  whilst  as  to  children  they  believed  that  if  they 
were  only  sufficiently  lectured  and  whipped,  they  could 
be  brought  to  a  state  of  moral  perfection  such  as  no  fa- 
natic has  ever  ascribed  to  his  deity.  Though  they  were 
not  intentionally  malicious,  they  practised  the  most  ap- 
palling cruelties  from  mere  thoughtlessness,  thinking 
nothing  of  imprisoning  men  and  women  for  periods  up 
to  twenty  years  for  breaking  into  their  houses;  of  treat- 
ing their  children  as  wild  beasts  to  be  tamed  by  a  sys- 
tem of  blows  and  imprisonment  which  they  called 
education;  and  of  keeping  pianos  in  their  houses,  not 
for  musical  purposes,  but  to  torment  their  daughters 
with  a  senseless  stupidity  that  would  have  revolted  an 
inquisitor. 

In  short,  dear  reader,  they  were  very  like  you  and  me. 
I  could  fill  a  hundred  pages  with  the  tale  of  our  imbe- 
cilities and  still  leave  much  untold;  but  what  I  have  set 
down  here  haphazard  is  enough  to  condemn  the  system 
that  produced  us.  The  corner  stone  of  that  system  was 
the  family  and  the  institution  of  marriage  as  we  have  it 
to-day  in  England. 

Hearth  and  Home 

There  is  no  shirking  it:  if  marriage  cannot  be  made  to 
produce  something  better  than  we  are,  marriage  will  have 
to  go,  or  else  the  nation  will  have  to  go.  It  is  no  use 
talking  of  honor,  virtue,  purity,  and  wholesome,  sweet, 
clean,  English  home  lives  when  what  is  meant  is  simply 
the  habits  I  have  described.  The  flat  fact  is  that  English 
home  life  to-day  is  neither  honorable,  virtuous,  whole- 
some, sweet,  clean,  nor  in  any  creditable  way  distinct- 
ively English.     It  is  in  many  respects  conspicuously  the 


18  Getting  Married 

reverse;  and  the  result  of  withdrawing  children  from  it 
completely  at  an  early  age,  and  sending  them  to  a  public 
school  and  then  to  a  university,  does,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  these  institutions  are  class  warped  and  in  some  re- 
spects quite  abominably  corrupt,  produce  sociabler  men. 
Women,  too,  are  improved  by  the  escape  from  home  pro- 
vided by  women's  colleges;  but  as  very  few  of  them  are 
fortunate  enough  to  enjoy  this  advantage,  most  women 
are  so  thoroughly  home-bred  as  to  be  unfit  for  human  so- 
ciety.    So  little  is  expected  of  them  that  in  Sheridan's 
School  for  Scandal  we  hardly  notice  that  the  heroine  is 
a  female  cad,  as  detestable  and  dishonorable  in  her  re- 
pentance as  she  is  vulgar  and  silly  in  her  naughtiness. 
It  was  left  to  an  abnormal  critic  like  George  Gissing  to 
point  out  the  glaring  fact  that  in  the  remarkable  set  of 
life  studies  of  XlXth  century  women  to  be  found  in  the 
novels  of  Dickens,  the  most  convincingly  real  ones  are 
either  vilely  unamiable  or  comically  contemptible;  whilst 
his  attempts  to  manufacture  admirable  heroines  by  ideali- 
zations of  home-bred  womanhood  are  not  only  absurd  but 
not  even  pleasantly  absurd:  one  has  no  patience  with 
them. 

As  all  this  is  corrigible  by  reducing  home  life  and 
domestic  sentiment  to  something  like  reasonable  propor- 
tions in  the  life  of  the  individual,  the  danger  of  it  does 
not  lie  in  human  nature.  Home  life  as  we  understand  it 
is  no  more  natural  to  us  than  a  cage  is  natural  to  a  cocka- 
too. Its  grave  danger  to  the  nation  lies  in  its  narrow 
views,  its  unnaturally  sustained  and  spitefully  jealous 
concupiscences,  its  petty  tyrannies,  its  false  social  pre- 
tences, its  endless  grudges  and  squabbles,  its  sacrifice  of 
the  boy's  future  by  setting  him  to  earn  money  to  help 
the  family  when  he  should  be  in  training  for  his  adult 
life  (remember  the  boy  Dickens  and  the  blacking  fac- 
tory), and  of  the  girl's  chances  by  making  her  a  slave 
to  sick  or  selfish  parents,  its  unnatural  packing  into  little 


Preface  19 

brick  boxes  of  little  parcels  of  humanity  of  ill-assorted 
ages,  with  the  old  scolding  or  beating  the  young  for  be- 
having like   young  people,  and  the   young  hating  and 
thwarting  the  old  for  behaving  like  old  people,  and  all 
the  other  ills,  mentionable  and  unmentionable,  that  arise 
from   excessive  segregation.      It  sets  these  evils   up  as 
benefits  and  blessings  representing  the  highest  attainable 
degree  of  honor  and  virtue,  whilst  any  criticism  of  or 
revolt   against  them   is  savagely  persecuted  as  the  ex- 
tremity of  vice.     The  revolt,  driven  under  ground  and 
exacerbated,  produces  debauchery  veiled  by  hypocrisy,  an 
overwhelming  demand  for  licentious  theatrical  entertain- 
ments which  no  censorship  can  stem,  and,  worst  of  all,  a 
confusion  of  virtue  with  the  mere  morality  that  steals  its 
name  until  the  real  thing  is  loathed  because  the  imposture 
is  loathsome.     Literary  traditions  spring  up  in  which  the 
libertine  and  profligate — Tom  Jones  and  Charles  Surface 
are  the  heroes,  and  decorous,  law-abiding  persons — Blifil 
and  Joseph  Surface — are  the  villains  and  butts.     People 
like  to  believe  that  Nell  Gwynne  has  every  amiable  qual- 
ity and  the  Bishop's  wife  every  odious  one.     Poor  Mr. 
Pecksniff,  who  is  generally  no  worse  than  a  humbug  with 
a  turn  for  pompous  talking,  is  represented  as  a  criminal 
instead  of  as  a  very  typical  English  paterfamilias  keep- 
ing a  roof  over  the  head  of  himself  and  his  daughters  by 
inducing  people  to  pay  him  more  for  his  services  than 
they  are  worth.      In  the  extreme  instances  of  reaction 
against    convention,    female    murderers    get    sheaves    of 
offers  of  marriage ;  and  when  Nature  throws  up  that  rare 
phenomenon,  an  unscrupulous  libertine,  his  success  among 
"  well  brought-up  "  girls  is  so  easy,  and  the  devotion  he 
inspires  so  extravagant,  that  it  is  impossible  not  to  see 
that   the   revolt  against  conventional  respectability   has 
transfigured   a  commonplace  rascal  into   a  sort  of  An- 
archist Saviour.     As  to  the  respectable  voluptuary,  who 
joins  Omar  Khayyam  clubs  and  vibrates  to  Swinburne's 


20  Getting  Married 

invocation  of   Dolores   to   "  come  down   and  redeem  us 
from  virtue/'  he  is  to  be  found  in  every  suburb. 


Too  Much  of  a  Good  Thing 

We  must  be  reasonable  in  our  domestic  ideals.  I  do 
not  think  that  life  at  a  public  school  is  altogether  good 
for  a  boy  any  more  than  barrack  life  is  altogether  good 
for  a  soldier.  But  neither  is  home  life  altogether  good. 
Such  good  as  it  does,  I  should  say,  is  due  to  its  freedom 
from  the  very  atmosphere  it  professes  to  supply.  That 
atmosphere  is  usually  described  as  an  atmosphere  of  love; 
and  this  definition  should  be  sufficient  to  put  any  sane 
person  on  guard  against  it.  The  people  who  talk  and 
write  as  if  the  highest  attainable  state  is  that  of  a  family 
stewing  in  love  continuously  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave, 
can  hardly  have  given  five  minutes  serious  consideration 
to  so  outrageous  a  proposition.  They  cannot  have  even 
made  up  their  minds  as  to  what  they  mean  by  love;  for 
when  they  expatiate  on  their  thesis  they  are  sometimes 
talking  about  kindness,  and  sometimes  about  mere  appe- 
tite. In  either  sense  they  are  equally  far  from  the  reali- 
ties of  life.  No  healthy  man  or  animal  is  occupied  with 
love  in  any  sense  for  more  than  a  very  small  fraction  in- 
deed of  the  time  he  devotes  to  business  and  to  recreations 
wholly  unconnected  with  love.  A  wife  entirely  preoccu- 
pied with  her  affection  for  her  husband,  a  mother  entirely 
preoccupied  with  her  affection  for  her  children,  may  be 
all  very  well  in  a  book  (for  people  who  like  that  kind  of 
book)  ;  but  in  actual  life  she  is  a  nuisance.  Husbands 
may  escape  from  her  when  their  business  compels  them 
to  be  away  from  home  all  day ;  but  young  children  may 
be,  and  quite  often  are,  killed  by  her  cuddling  and  cod- 
dling and  doctoring  and  preaching:  above  all,  by  her 
continuous  attempts  to  excite  precocious  sentimentality, 


Preface  21 

a  practice  as  objectionable,  and  possibly  as  mischievous, 
as  the  worst  tricks  of  the  worst  nursemaids. 

Large  and  Small  Families 

In  most  healthy  families  there  is  a  revolt  against  this 
tendency.  The  exchanging  of  presents  on  birthdays  and 
the  like  is  barred  by  general  consent,  and  the  relations 
of  the  parties  are  placed  by  express  treaty  on  an  unsen- 
timental footing. 

Unfortunately  this  mitigation  of  family  sentimentality 
is  much  more  characteristic  of  large  families  than  small 
ones.  It  used  to  be  said  that  members  of  large  families 
get  on  in  the  world ;  and  it  is  certainly  true  that  for  pur- 
poses of  social  training  a  household  of  twenty  surpasses 
a  household  of  five  as  an  Oxford  College  surpasses  an 
eight-roomed  house  in  a  cheap  street.  Ten  children,  with 
the  necessary  adults,  make  a  community  in  which  an  ex- 
cess of  sentimentality  is  impossible.  Two  children  make 
a  doll's  house,  in  which  both  parents  and  children  become 
morbid  if  they  keep  to  themselves.  What  is  more,  when 
large  families  were  the  fashion,  they  were  organized  as 
tyrannies  much  more  than  as  "  atmospheres  of  love." 
Francis  Place  tells  us  that  he  kept  out  of  his  father's 
way  because  his  father  never  passed  a  child  within  his 
reach  without  striking  it;  and  though  the  case  was  an 
extreme  one,  it  was  an  extreme  that  illustrated  a  ten- 
dency. Sir  Walter  Scott's  father,  when  his  son  incau- 
tiously expressed  some  relish  for  his  porridge,  dashed  a 
handful  of  salt  into  it  with  an  instinctive  sense  that  it 
was  his  duty  as  a  father  to  prevent  his  son  enjoying  him- 
self. Ruskin's  mother  gratified  the  sensual  side  of  her 
maternal  passion,  not  by  cuddling  her  son,  but  by  whip- 
ping him  when  he  fell  downstairs  or  was  slack  in  learn- 
ing the  Bible  off  by  heart;  and  this  grotesque  safety- 
valve  for  voluptuousness,  mischievous  as  it  was  in  many 


22  Getting  Married 

ways,  had  at  least  the  advantage  that  the  child  did  not 
enjoy  it  and  was  not  debauched  by  it,  as  he  would  have 
been  by  transports  of  sentimentality. 

But  nowadays  we  cannot  depend  on  these  safeguards, 
such  as  they  were.  We  no  longer  have  large  f  amilies :  all 
the  families  are  too  small  to  give  the  children  the  neces- 
sary social  training.  The  Roman  father  is  out  of  fash- 
ion ;  and  the  whip  and  the  cane  are  becoming  discredited, 
not  so  much  by  the  old  arguments  against  corporal  pun- 
ishment (sound  as  these  were)  as  by  the  gradual  wearing 
away  of  the  veil  from  the  fact  that  flogging  is  a  form  of 
debauchery.  The  advocate  of  flogging  as  a  punishment 
is  now  exposed  to  very  disagreeable  suspicions ;  and  ever 
since  Rousseau  rose  to  the  effort  of  making  a  certain  very 
ridiculous  confession  on  the  subject,  there  has  been  a 
growing  perception  that  child  whipping,  even  for  the 
children  themselves,  is  not  always  the  innocent  and  high- 
minded  practice  it  professes  to  be.  At  all  events  there 
is  no  getting  away  from  the  facts  that  families  are 
smaller  than  they  used  to  be,  and  that  passions  which 
formerly  took  effect  in  tyranny  have  been  largely  di- 
verted into  sentimentality.  And  though  a  little  sentimen- 
tality may  be  a  very  good  thing,  chronic  sentimentality 
is  a  horror,  more  dangerous,  because  more  possible,  than 
the  erotomania  which  we  all  condemn  when  we  are  not 
thoughtlessly  glorifying  it  as  the  ideal  married  state. 

The  Gospel  of  Laodicea 

Let  us  try  to  get  at  the  root  error  of  these  false  dome«- 
tice  doctrines.  Why  was  it  that  the  late  Samuel  Butler, 
with  a  conviction  that  increased  with  his  experience  of 
life,  preached  the  gospel  of  Laodicea, urging  people  to  be 
temperate  in  what  they  called  goodness  as  in  everything 
else?  Why  is  it  that  I,  when  I  hear  some  well-meaning 
person  exhort  young  people  to  make  it  a  rule  to  do  at 


Preface  28 

least  one  kind  action  every  day,  feel  very  much  as  I 
should  if  I  heard  them  persuade  children  to  get  drunk  at 
least  once  every  day?  Apart  from  the  initial  absurdity 
of  accepting  as  permanent  a  state  of  things  in  which 
there  would  be  in  this  country  misery  enough  to  supply 
occasion  for  several  thousand  million  kind  actions  per 
annum,  the  effect  on  the  character  of  the  doers  of  the 
actions  would  be  so  appalling,  that  one  month  of  any 
serious  attempt  to  carry  out  such  counsels  would  proba- 
bly bring  about  more  stringent  legislation  against  actions 
going  beyond  the  strict  letter  of  the  law  in  the  way  of 
kindness  than  we  have  now  against  excess  in  the  opposite 
direction. 

There  is  no  more  dangerous  mistake  than  the  mistake 
of  supposing  that  we  cannot  have  too  much  of  a  good 
thing.  The  truth  is,  an  immoderately  good  man  is  very 
much  more  dangerous  than  an  immoderately  bad  man: 
that  is  why  Savonarola  was  burnt  and  John  of  Leyden 
torn  to  pieces  with  red-hot  pincers  whilst  multitudes  of 
unredeemed  rascals  were  being  let  off  with  clipped  ears, 
burnt  palms,  a  flogging,  or  a  few  years  in  the  galleys. 
That  is  why  Christianity  never  got  any  grip  of  the  world 
until  it  virtually  reduced  its  claims  on  the  ordinary  citi- 
zen's attention  to  a  couple  of  hours  every  seventh  day, 
and  let  him  alone  on  week-days.  If  the  fanatics  who 
are  preoccupied  day  in  and  day  out  with  their  salvation 
were  healthy,  virtuous,  and  wise,  the  Laodiceanism  of  the 
ordinary  man  might  be  regarded  as  a  deplorable  short- 
coming; but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  no  more  frightful  mis- 
fortune could  threaten  us  than  a  general  spread  of  fa- 
naticism. What  people  call  goodness  has  to  be  kept  in 
check  just  as  carefully  as  what  they  call  badness;  for 
the  human  constitution  will  not  stand  very  much  of  either 
without  serious  psychological  mischief,  ending  in  insanity 
or  crime.  The  fact  that  the  insanity  may  be  privileged, 
as  Savonarola's  was  up  to  the  point  of  wrecking  the  social 


24  Getting  Married 

life  of  Florence,  does  not  alter  the  case.  We  always 
hesitate  to  treat  a  dangerously  good  man  as  a  lunatic  be- 
cause he  may  turn  out  to  be  a  prophet  in  the  true  sense: 
that  is,  a  man  of  exceptional  sanity  who  is  in  the  right 
when  we  are  in  the  wrong.  However  necessary  it  may 
have  been  to  get  rid  of  Savonarola,  it  was  foolish  to  poi- 
son Socrates  and  burn  St.  Joan  of  Arc.  But  it  is  none 
the  less  necessary  to  take  a  firm  stand  against  the  mon- 
strous proposition  that  because  certain  attitudes  and  sen- 
timents may  be  heroic  and  admirable  at  some  momentous 
crisis,  they  should  or  can  be  maintained  at  the  same  pitch 
continuously  through  life.  A  life  spent  in  prayer  and 
almsgiving  is  really  as  insane  as  a  life  spent  in  cursing 
and  picking  pockets:  the  effect  of  everybody  doing  it 
would  be  equally  disastrous.  The  superstitious  tolerance 
so  long  accorded  to  monks  and  nuns  is  inevitably  giving 
way  to  a  very  general  and  very  natural  practice  of  con- 
fiscating their  retreats  and  expelling  them  from  their 
country,  with  the  result  that  they  come  to  England  and 
Ireland,  where  they  are  partly  unnoticed  and  partly  en- 
couraged because  they  conduct  technical  schools  and 
teach  our  girls  softer  speech  and  gentler  manners  than 
our  comparatively  ruffianly  elementary  teachers.  But 
they  are  still  full  of  the  notion  that  because  it  is  possible 
for  men  to  attain  the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc  and  stay 
there  for  an  hour,  it  is  possible  for  them  to  l;ve  there. 
Children  are  punished  and  scolded  for  not  living  there; 
and  adults  take  serious  offence  if  it  is  not  assumed  that 
they  live  there. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  ethical  strain  is  just  as  bad  for 
us  as  physical  strain.  It  is  desirable  that  the  normal 
pitch  of  conduct  at  which  men  are  not  conscious  of  being 
particularly  virtuous,  although  they  feel  mean  when  they 
fall  below  it,  should  be  raised  as  high  as  possible ;  but  it 
is  not  desirable  that  they  should  attempt  to  live  above  this 
pitch  any  more  than  that  they  should  habitually  walk  at 


Preface  25 

the  rate  of  five  miles  an  hour  or  carry  a  hundredweight 
continually  on  their  backs.  Their  normal  condition 
should  be  in  nowise  difficult  or  remarkable;  and  it  is  a 
perfectly  sound  instinct  that  leads  us  to  mistrust  the 
good  man  as  much  as  the  bad  man,  and  to  object  to  the 
clergyman  who  is  pious  extra-professionally  as  much  as 
to  the  professional  pugilist  who  is  quarrelsome  and  vio- 
lent in  private  life.  We  do  not  want  good  men  and  bad 
men  any  more  than  we  want  giants  and  dwarfs.  What 
we  do  want  is  a  high  quality  for  our  normal :  that  is,  peo- 
ple who  can  be  much  better  than  what  we  now  call  re- 
spectable without  self-sacrifice.  Conscious  goodness,  like 
conscious  muscular  effort,  may  be  of  use  in  emergencies; 
but  for  everyday  national  use  it  is  negligible;  and  its 
effect  on  the  character  of  the  individual  may  easily  be 
disastrous. 


For  Better  For  Worse 

It  would  be  hard  to  find  any  document  in  practical 
daily  use  in  which  these  obvious  truths  seem  so  stupidly 
overlooked  as  they  are  in  the  marriage  service.  As  we 
have  seen,  the  stupidity  is  only  apparent :  the  service  was 
really  only  an  honest  attempt  to  make  the  best  of  a  com- 
mercial contract  of  property  and  slavery  by  subjecting 
it  to  some  religious  restraint  and  elevating  it  by  some 
touch  of  poetry.  But  the  actual  result  is  that  when 
two  people  are  under  the  influence  of  the  most  violent, 
most  insane,  most  delusive,  and  most  transient  of  pas- 
sions, they  are  required  to  swear  that  they  will  remain 
in  that  excited,  abnormal,  and  exhausting  condition  con- 
tinuously until  death  do  them  part.  And  though  of 
course  nobody  expects  them  to  do  anything  so  impossible 
and  so  unwholesome,  yet  the  law  that  regulates  their  re- 
lations, and  the  public  opinion  that  regulates  that  law, 
is  actually  founded  on  the  assumption  that  the  marriage 


26  Getting  Married 

vow  is  not  only  feasible  but  beautiful  and  holy,  and  that 
if  they  are  false  to  it,  they  deserve  no  sympathy  and  no 
relief.  If  all  married  people  really  lived  together,  no 
doubt  the  mere  force  of  facts  would  make  an  end  to  this 
inhuman  nonsense  in  a  month,  if  not  sooner;  but  it  is 
very  seldom  brought  to  that  test.  The  typical  British 
husband  sees  much  less  of  his  wife  than  he  does  of  his 
business  partner,  his  fellow  clerk,  or  whoever  works  be- 
side him  day  by  day.  Man  and  wife  do  not  as  a  rule, 
live  together :  they  only  breakfast  together,  dine  together, 
and  sleep  in  the  same  room.  In  most  cases  the  woman 
knows  nothing  of  the  man's  working  life  and  he  knows 
nothing  of  her  working  life  (he  calls  it  her  home  life). 
It  is  remarkable  that  the  very  people  who  romance  most 
absurdly  about  the  closeness  and  sacredness  of  the  mar- 
riage tie  are  also  those  who  are  most  convinced  .that  the 
man's  sphere  and  the  woman's  sphere  are  so  entirely 
separate  that  only  in  their  leisure  moments  can  they  ever 
be  together.  A  man  as  intimate  with  his  own  wife  as  a 
magistrate  is  with  his  clerk,  or  a  Prime  Minister  with  the 
leader  of  the  Opposition,  is  a  man  in  ten  thousand.  The 
majority  of  married  couples  never  get  to  know  one  an- 
other at  all :  they  only  get  accustomed  to  having  the  same 
house,  the  same  children,  and  the  same  income,  which  is 
quite  a  different  matter.  The  comparatively  few  men 
who  work  at  home — writers,  artists,  and  to  some  extent 
clergymen — have  to  effect  some  sort  of  segregation  with- 
in the  house  or  else  run  a  heavy  risk  of  overstraining 
their  domestic  relations.  When  the  pair  is  so  poor  that 
it  can  afford  only  a  single  room,  the  strain  is  intolerable : 
violent  quarrelling  is  the  result.  Very  few  couples  can 
live  in  a  single-roomed  tenement  without  exchanging 
blows  quite  frequently.  In  the  leisured  classes  there  is 
often  no  real  family  life  at  all.  The  boys  are  at  a  public 
school;  the  girls  are  in  the  schoolroom  in  charge  of  a 
governess ;  the  husband  is  at  his  club  or  in  a  set  which  is 


Preface  27 

not  his  wife's;  and  the  institution  of  marriage  enjoys  the 
credit  of  a  domestic  peace  which  is  hardly  more  intimate 
than  the  relations  of  prisoners  in  the  same  gaol  or  guests 
at  the  same  garden  party.  Taking  these  two  cases  of 
the  single  room  and  the  unearned  income  as  the  extremes, 
we  might  perhaps  locate  at  a  guess  whereabout  on  the 
scale  between  them  any  particular  family  stands.  But  it 
is  clear  enough  that  the  one-roomed  end,  though  its  con- 
ditions enable  the  marriage  vow  to  be  carried  out  with  the 
utmost  attainable  exactitude,  is  far  less  endurable  in 
practice,  and  far  more  mischievous  in  its  effect  on  the 
parties  concerned,  and  through  them  on  the  community, 
than  the  other  end.  Thus  we  see  that  the  revolt  against 
marriage  is  by  no  means  only  a  revolt  against  its  sordid- 
ness  as  a  survival  of  sex  slavery.  It  may  even  plausibly 
be  maintained  that  this  is  precisely  the  part  of  it  that 
works  most  smoothly  in  practice.  The  revolt  is  also 
against  its  sentimentality,  its  romance,  its  Amorism,  even 
against  its  enervating  happiness. 

Wanted:  an  Immoral  Statesman 

We  now  see  that  the  statesman  who  undertakes  to  deal 
with  marriage  will  have  to  face  an  amazingly  complicated 
public  opinion.  In  fact,  he  will  have  to  leave  opinion 
as  far  as  possible  out  of  the  question,  and  deal  with  hu- 
man nature  instead.  For  even  if  there  could  be  any  real 
public  opinion  in  a  society  like  ours,  which  is  a  mere  mob 
of  classes,  each  with  its  own  habits  and  prejudices,  it 
would  be  at  best  a  jumble  of  superstitions  and  interests, 
taboos  and  hypocrisies,  which  could  not  be  reconciled  in 
any  coherent  enactment.  It  would  probably  proclaim 
passionately  that  it  does  not  matter  in  the  least  what  sort 
of  children  we  have,  or  how  few  or  how  many,  provided 
the  children  are  legitimate.  Also  that  it  does  not  matter 
in  the  least  what  sort  of  adults  we  have,  provided  they 


28  Getting  Married 

are  married.  No  statesman  worth  the  name  can  possibly 
act  on  these  views.  He  is  bound  to  prefer  one  healthy 
illegitimate  child  to  ten  rickety  legitimate  ones,  and  one 
energetic  and  capable  unmarried  couple  to  a  dozen  infe- 
rior apathetic  husbands  and  wives.  If  it  could  be  proved 
that  illicit  unions  produce  three  children  each  and  mar- 
riages only  one  and  a  half,  he  would  be  bound  to  encour- 
age illicit  unions  and  discourage  and  even  penalize  mar- 
riage. The  common  notion  that  the  existing  forms  of 
marriage  are  not  political  contrivances,  but  sacred  ethical 
obligations  to  which  everything,  even  the  very  existence 
of  the  human  race,  must  be  sacrificed  if  necessary  (and 
this  is  what  the  vulgar  morality  we  mostly  profess  on  the 
subject  comes  to)  is  one  on  which  no  sane  Government 
could  act  for  a  moment;  and  yet  it  influences,  or  is  be- 
lieved to  influence,  so  many  votes,  that  no  Government 
will  touch  the  marriage  question  if  it  can  possibly  help 
it,  even  when  there  is  a  demand  for  the  extension  of  mar- 
riage, as  in  the  case  of  the  recent  long-delayed  Act  legal- 
izing marriage  with  a  deceased  wife's  sister.  When  a 
reform  in  the  other  direction  is  needed  (for  example,  an 
extension  of  divorce),  not  even  the  existence  of  the  most 
unbearable  hardships  will  induce  our  statesmen  to  move 
so  long  as  the  victims  submit  sheepishly,  though  when 
they  take  the  remedy  into  their  own  hands  an  inquiry  is 
soon  begun.  But  what  is  now  making  some  action  in  the 
matter  imperative  is  neither  the  sufferings  of  those  who 
are  tied  for  life  to  criminals,  drunkards,  physically  un- 
sound and  dangerous  mates,  and  worthless  and  unamiable 
people  generally,  nor  the  immorality  of  the  couples  con- 
demned to  celibacy  by  separation  orders  which  do  not 
annul  their  marriages,  but  the  fall  in  the  birth  rate. 
Public  opinion  will  not  help  us  out  of  this  difficulty:  on 
the  contrary,  it  will,  if  it  be  allowed,  punish  anybody 
who  mentions  it.  When  Zola  tried  to  repopulate  France 
by  writing  a  novel  in  praise  of  parentage,  the  only  com- 


Preface  29 

ment  made  here  was  that  the  book  could  not  possibly  be 
translated  into  English,  as  its  subject  was  too  improper. 

The  Limits  of  Democracy 

Now  if  England  had  been   governed  in  the  past  by 
statesmen  willing  to  be  ruled  by  such  public  opinion  as 
that,  she  would  have  been  wiped  off  the  political  map 
long  ago.      The  modern  notion  that  democracy  means 
governing  a  country  according  to  the  ignorance  of  its 
majorities  is  never  more  disastrous  than  when  there  is 
some  question  of  sexual  morals  to  be  dealt  with.     The 
business  of  a  democratic  statesman  is  not,  as  some  of  us 
seem  to  think,  to  convince  the  voters  that  he  knows  no 
better  than  they  as  to  the  methods  of  attaining  their  com- 
mon ends,  but  on  the  contrary  to  convince  them  that  he 
knows  much  better  than  they  do,  and  therefore  differs 
from  them  on  every  possible  question  of  method.     The 
voter's  duty  is  to  take  care  that  the  Government  consists 
of  men  whom  he  can  trust  to  devize  or  support  institu- 
tions making  for  the  common  welfare.     This  is  highly 
skilled  work ;  and  to  be  governed  by  people  who  set  about 
it  as  the  man  in  the  street  would  set  about  it  is  to  make 
straight  for  "  red  ruin  and  the  breaking  up  of  laws." 
Voltaire  said  that  Mr  Everybody  is  wiser  than  anybody; 
and  whether  he  is  or  not,  it  is  his  will  that  must  prevail; 
but  the  will  and  the  way  are  two  very  different  things. 
For  example,  it  is  the  will  of  the  people  on  a  hot  day 
that  the  means  of  relief  from  the  effects  of  the  heat 
should  be  within  the  reach  of  everybody.     Nothing  could 
be  more  innocent,  more  hygienic,  more  important  to  the 
social  welfare.     But  the  way  of  the  people  on  such  occa- 
sions  is   mostly  to   drink  large   quantities   of   beer,   or, 
among  the  more  luxurious  classes,  iced  claret  cup,  lemon 
squashes,  and  the  like.     To  take  a  moral  illustration,  the 
will  to  suppress  misconduct  and  secure  efficiency  in  work 


30  Getting  Married 

is  general  and  salutary;  but  the  notion  that  the  best  and 
only  effective  way  is  by  complaining,  scolding,  punish- 
ing, and  revenging  is  equally  general.  When  Mrs 
Squeers  opened  an  abscess  on  her  pupil's  head  with  an 
inky  penknife,  her  object  was  entirely  laudable:  her 
heart  was  in  the  right  place:  a  statesman  interfering 
with  her  on  the  ground  that  he  did  not  want  the  boy 
cured  would  have  deserved  impeachment  for  gross  tyr- 
anny. But  a  statesman  tolerating  amateur  surgical  prac- 
tice with  inky  penknives  in  school  would  be  a  very  bad 
Minister  of  Education.  It  is  on  the  question  of  method 
that  your  expert  comes  in ;  and  though  I  am  democrat 
enough  to  insist  that  he  must  first  convince  a  representa- 
tive body  of  amateurs  that  his  way  is  the  right  way  and 
Mrs  Squeers's  way  the  wrong  way,  yet  I  very  strongly 
object  to  any  tendency  to  flatter  Mrs  Squeers  into  the 
belief  that  her  way  is  in  the  least  likely  to  be  the  right 
way,  or  that  any  other  test  is  to  be  applied  to  it  except 
the  test  of  its  effect  on  human  welfare. 


The  Science  and  Art  of  Politics 

Political  Science  means  nothing  else  than  the  devizing 
of  the  best  ways  of  fulfilling  the  will  of  the  world;  and, 
I  repeat,  it  is  skilled  work.  Once  the  way  is  discovered, 
the  methods  laid  down,  and  the  machinery  provided,  the 
work  of  the  statesman  is  done,  and  that  of  the  official 
begins.  To  illustrate,  there  is  no  need  for  the  police 
officer  who  governs  the  street  traffic  to  be  or  to  know  any 
better  than  the  people  who  obey  the  wave  of  his  hand. 
All  concerted  action  involves  subordination  and  the  ap- 
pointment of  directors  at  whose  signal  the  others  will  act. 
There  is  no  more  need  for  them  to  be  superior  to  the 
rest  than  for  the  keystone  of  an  arch  to  be  of  harder 
stone  than  the  coping.  But  when  it  comes  to  devizing 
the  directions  which  are  to  be  obeyed:  that  is,  to  making 


Preface  31 

new  institutions  and  scraping  old  ones,  then  you  need 
aristocracy  in  the  sense  of  government  by  the  best.  A 
military  state  organized  so  as  to  carry  out  exactly  the 
impulses  of  le  average  soldier  would  not  last  a  year. 
The  result  of  trying  to  make  the  Church  of  England  re- 
flect the  notions  of  the  average  churchgoer  has  reduced 
it  to  a  cipher  except  for  the  purposes  of  a  petulantly 
irreligious  social  and  political  club.  Democracy  as  to 
the  thing  to  be  done  may  be  inevitable  (hence  the  vital 
need  for  a  democracy  of  supermen)  ;  but  democracy  as 
to  the  way  to  do  it  is  like  letting  the  passengers  drive  the 
train:  it  can  only  end  in  collision  and  wreck.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  act,  we  obtain  reforms  (such  as  they  are),  not  by 
allowing  the  electorate  to  draft  statutes,  but  by  persuad- 
ing it  that  a  certain  minister  and  his  cabinet  are  gifted 
with  sufficient  political  sagacity  to  find  out  how  to  pro- 
duce the  desired  result.  And  the  usual  penalty  of  taking 
advantage  of  this  power  to  reform  our  institutions  is 
defeat  by  a  vehement  "  swing  of  the  pendulum  "  at  the 
next  election.  Therein  lies  the  peril  and  the  glory  of 
democratic  statesmanship.  A  statesman  who  confines 
himself  to  popular  legislation — or,  for  the  matter  of  that, 
a  playwright  who  confines  himself  to  popular  plays — is 
like  a  blind  man's  dog  who  goes  wherever  the  blind  man 
pulls  him,  on  the  ground  that  both  of  them  want  to  go 
to  the  same  place. 

Why  Statesmen  Shirk  the  Marriage 

Question 

The  reform  of  marriage,  then,  will  be  a  very  splendid 
and  very  hazardous  adventure  for  the  Prime  Minister 
who  takes  it  in  hand.  He  will  be  posted  on  every  hoard- 
ing and  denounced  in  every  Opposition  paper,  especially 
in  the  sporting  papers,  as  the  destroyer  of  the  home,  the 
family,  of  decency,  of  morality,  of  chastity  and  what 


32  Getting  Married 

not.  All  the  commonplaces  of  the  modern  antiSocialist 
Noodle's  Oration  will  be  hurled  at  him.  And  he  will 
have  to  proceed  without  the  slightest  concession  to  it, 
giving  the  noodles  nothing  but  their  due  in  the  assurance 
"  I  know  how  to  attain  our  ends  better  than  you/'  and 
staking  his  political  life  on  the  conviction  carried  by  that 
assurance,  which  conviction  will  depend  a  good  deal  on 
the  certainty  with  which  it  is  made,  which  again  can  be 
attained  only  by  studying  the  facts  of  marriage  and  un- 
derstanding the  needs  of  the  nation.  And,  after  all,  he 
will  find  that  the  pious  commonplaces  on  which  he  and 
the  electorate  are  agreed  conceal  an  utter  difference  in 
the  real  ends  in  view:  his  being  public,  far-sighted,  and 
impersonal,  and  those  of  multitudes  of  the  electorate 
narrow,  personal,  jealous,  and  corrupt.  Under  such  cir- 
cumstances, it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  the  mere  men- 
tion of  the  marriage  question  makes  a  British  Cabinet 
shiver  with  apprehension  and  hastily  pass  on  to  safer 
business.  Nevertheless  the  reform  of  marriage  cannot 
be  put  off  for  ever.  When  its  hour  comes,  what  are  the 
points  the  Cabinet  will  have  to  take  up  ? 

The  Question  of  Population 

First,  it  will  have  to  make  up  its  mind  as  to  how  many 
people  we  want  in  the  country.  If  we  want  less  than 
at  present,  we  must  ascertain  how  many  less;  and  if  we 
allow  the  reduction  to  be  made  by  the  continued  opera- 
tion of  the  present  sterilization  of  marriage,  we  must 
settle  how  the  process  is  to  be  stopped  when  it  has  gone 
far  enough.  But  if  we  desire  to  maintain  the  population 
at  its  present  figure,  or  to  increase  it,  we  must  take  im- 
mediate steps  to  induce  people  of  moderate  means  to 
marry  earlier  and  to  have  more  children.  There  is  less 
urgency  in  the  case  of  the  very  poor  and  the  very  rich. 
They  breed  recklessly:  the  rich  because  they  can  afford 


Preface  33 

it,  and  the  poor  because  they  cannot  afford  the  precau- 
tions by  which  the  artisans  and  the  middle  classes  avoid 
big  families.  Nevertheless  the  population  declines,  be- 
cause the  high  birth  rate  of  the  very  poor  is  counterbal- 
anced by  a  huge  infantile-mortality  in  the  slums,  whilst 
the  very  rich  are  also  the  very  few,  and  are  becoming 
sterilized  by  the  spreading  revolt  of  their  women  against 
excessive  childbearing — sometimes  against  any  child- 
bearing. 

This  last  cause  is  important.  It  cannot  be  removed  by 
any  economic  readjustment.  If  every  family  were  pro- 
vided with  <£  10,000  a  year  tomorrow,  women  would  still 
refuse  more  and  more  to  continue  bearing  children  until 
they  are  exhausted  whilst  numbers  of  others  are  bearing 
no  children  at  all.  Even  if  every  woman  bearing  and 
rearing  a  valuable  child  received  a  handsome  series  of 
payments,  thereby  making  motherhood  a  real  profes- 
sion as  it  ought  to  be,  the  number  of  women  able  or  will- 
ing to  give  more  of  their  lives  to  gestation  and  nursing 
than  three  or  four  children  would  cost  them  might  not 
be  very  large  if  the  advance  in  social  organization  and 
conscience  indicated  by  such  payments  involved  also  the 
opening  up  of  other  means  of  livelihood  to  women.  And 
it  must  be  remembered  that  urban  civilization  itself,  in- 
sofar as  it  is  a  method  of  evolution  (and  when  it  is  not 
this,  it  is  simply  a  nuisance),  is  a  sterilizing  process  as 
far  as  numbers  go.  It  is  harder  to  keep  up  the  supply 
of  elephants  than  of  sparrows  and  rabbits;  and  for  the 
same  reason  it  will  be  harder  to  keep  up  the  supply  of 
highly  cultivated  men  and  women  than  it  now  is  of  agri- 
cultural laborers.  Bees  get  out  of  this  difficulty  by  a 
special  system  of  feeding  which  enables  a  queen  bee  to 
produce  4,000  eggs  a  day  whilst  the  other  females  lose 
their  sex  altogether  and  become  workers  supporting  the 
males  in  luxury  and  idleness  until  the  queen  has  found 
her  mate,  when  the  queen  kills  him  and  the  quondam 


34  Getting  Married 

females  kill  all  the  rest  (such  at  least  are  the  accounts 
given  by  romantic  naturalists  of  the  matter). 

The  Right  to  Motherhood 

This  system  certainly  shews  a  much  higher  develop- 
ment of  social  intelligence  than  our  marriage  system; 
but  if  it  were  physically  possible  to  introduce  it  into  hu- 
man society  it  would  be  wrecked  by  an  opposite  and  not 
less  important  revolt  of  women :  that  is,  the  revolt  against 
compulsory  barrenness.  In  this  two  classes  of  women 
are  concerned:  those  who,  though  they  have  no  desire  for 
the  presence  or  care  of  children,  nevertheless  feel  that 
motherhood  is  an  experience  necessary  to  their  complete 
psychical  development  and  understanding  of  themselves 
and  others,  and  those  who,  though  unable  to  find  or  un- 
willing to  entertain  a  husband,  would  like  to  cccupy 
themselves  with  the  rearing  of  children.  My  own  ex- 
perience of  discussing  this  question  leads  me  to  believe 
that  the  one  point  on  which  all  women  are  in  furious 
secret  rebellion  against  the  existing  law  is  the  saddling 
of  the  right  to  a  child  with  the  obligation  to  become  the 
servant  of  a  man.  Adoption,  or  the  begging  or  buying 
or  stealing  of  another  woman's  child,  is  no  remedy:  it 
does  not  provide  the  supreme  experience  of  bearing  the 
child.  No  political  constitution  will  ever  succeed  or  de- 
serve to  succeed  unless  it  includes  the  recognition  of  an 
absolute  right  to  sexual  experience,  and  is  untainted  by 
the  Pauline  or  romantic  view  of  such  experience  as  sin- 
ful in  itself.  And  since  this  experience  in  its  fullest 
sense  must  be  carried  in  the  case  of  women  to  the  point 
of  childbearing,  it  can  only  be  reconciled  with  the  accept- 
ance of  marriage  with  the  child's  father  by  legalizing 
polygyny,  because  there  are  more  adult  women  in  the 
country  than  men.  Now  though  polygyny  prevails 
throughout  the  greater  part  of  the  British  Empire,  and 


Preface  35 

is  as  practicable  here  as  in  India,  there  is  a  good  deal 
to  be  said  against  it,  and  still  more  to  be  felt.  However, 
let  us  put  our  feelings  aside  for  a  moment,  and  consider 
the  question  politically. 

Monogamy,  Polygyny,  and  Polyandry 

The  number  of  wives  permitted  to  a  single  husband  or 
of  husbands  to  a  single  wife  under  a  marriage  system,  is 
not  an  ethical  problem:  it  depends  solely  on  the  propor- 
tion of  the  sexes  in  the  population.  If  in  consequence  of 
a  great"  war  three-quarters  of  the  men  in  this  country 
were  killed,  it  would  be  absolutely  necessary  to  adopt 
the  Mohammedan  allowance  of  four  wives  to  each  man  in 
order  to  recruit  the  population.  The  fundamental  rea- 
son for  not  allowing  women  to  risk  their  lives  in  battle 
and  for  giving  them  the  first  chance  of  escape  in  all 
dangerous  emergencies:  in  short,  for  treating  their  lives 
as  more  valuable  than  male  lives,  is  not  in  the  least  a 
chivalrous  reason,  though  men  may  consent  to  it  under 
the  illusion  of  chivalry.  It  is  a  simple  matter  of  neces- 
sity; for  if  a  large  proportion  of  women  were  killed  or 
disabled,  no  possible  readjustment  of  our  marriage  law 
could  avert  the  depopulation  and  consequent  political 
ruin  of  the  country,  because  a  woman  with  several  hus- 
bands bears  fewer  children  than  a  woman  with  one, 
whereas  a  man  can  produce  as  many  families  as  he  has 
wives.  The  natural  foundation  of  the  institution  of 
monogamy  is  not  any  inherent  viciousness  in  polygyny 
or  polyandry,  but  the  hard  fact  that  men  and  women  are 
born  in  about  equal  numbers.  Unfortunately,  we  kill  so 
many  of  our  male  children  in  infancy  that  we  are  left 
with  a  surplus  of  adult  women  which  is  sufficiently  large 
to  claim  attention,  and  yet  not  large  enough  to  enable 
every  man  to  have  two  wives.  Even  if  it  were,  we  should 
be  met  by  an  economic  difficulty.    A  Kaffir  is  rich  in  pro- 


36  Getting  Married 

portion  to  the  number  of  his  wives,  because  the  women 
are  the  breadwinners.  But  in  our  civilization  women  are  ' 
not  paid  for  their  social  work  in  the  bearing  and  rearing 
of  children  and  the  ordering  of  households;  they  are 
quartered  on  the  wages  of  their  husbands.  At  least  four 
out  of  five  of  our  men  could  not  afford  two  wives  unless 
their  wages  were  nearly  doubled.  Would  it  not  then  be 
well  to  try  unlimited  polygyny;  so  that  the  remaining 
fifth  could  have  as  many  wives  apiece  as  they  could 
afford?    Let  us  see  how  this  would  work. 


The  Male  Revolt  Against  Polygyny- 
Experience  shews  that  women  do  not  object  to 
polygyny  when  it  is  customary:  on  the  contrary,  they  are 
its  most  ardent  supporters.  The  reason  is  obvious.  The 
question,  as  it  presents  itself  in  practice  to  a  woman,  is 
whether  it  is  better  to  have,  say,  a  whole  share  in  a  tenth- 
rate  man  or  a  tenth  share  in  a  first-rate  man.  Substitute 
the  word  Income  for  the  word  Man,  and  you  will  have 
the  question  as  it  presents  itself  economically  to  the  de- 
pendent woman.  The  woman  whose  instincts  are  ma- 
ternal, who  desires  superior  children  more  than  anything 
else,  never  hesitates.  She  would  take  a  thousandth 
share,  if  necessary,  in  a  husband  who  was  a  man  in  a 
thousand,  rather  than  have  some  comparatively  weedy 
weakling  all  to  herself.  It  is  the  comparatively  weedy 
weakling,  left  mateless  by  polygyny,  who  objects.  Thus, 
it  was  not  the  women  of  Salt  Lake  City  nor  even  of 
America  who  attacked  Mormon  polygyny.  It  was  the 
men.  And  very  naturally.  On  the  other  hand,  women 
object  to  polyandry,  because  polyandry  enables  the  best 
women  to  monopolize  all  the  men,  just  as  polygyny 
enables  the  best  men  to  monopolize  all  the  women.  That 
is  why  all  our  ordinary  men  and  women  are  unanimous 
in  defence  of  monogamy,  the  men  because  it  excludes 


Preface  37 

polygyny,  and  the  women  because  it  excludes  polyandry. 
The  women,  left  to  themselves,  would  tolerate  polygyny. 
The  men,  left  to  themselves,  would  tolerate  polyandry. 
But  polygyny  would  condemn  a  great  many  men,  and 
polyandry  a  great  many  women,  to  the  celibacy  of 
neglect.  Hence  the  resistance  any  attempt  to  establish 
unlimited  polygyny  always  provokes,  not  from  the  best 
people,  but  from  the  mediocrities  and  the  inferiors.  If 
we  could  get  rid  of  our  inferiors  and  screw  up  our  aver- 
age quality  until  mediocrity  ceased  to  be  a  reproach, 
thus  making  every  man  reasonably  eligible  as  a  father 
and  every  woman  reasonably  desirable  as  a  mother, 
polygyny  and  polyandry  would  immediately  fall  into 
sincere  disrepute,  because  monogamy  is  so  much  more 
convenient  and  economical  that  nobody  would  want  to 
share  a  husband  or  a  wife  if  he  (or  she)  could  have  a 
sufficiently  good  one  all  to  himself  (or  herself).  Thus 
it  appears  that  it  is  the  scarcity  of  husbands  or  wives  of 
high  quality  that  leads  woman  to  polygyny  and  men  to 
polyandry,  and  that  if  this  scarcity  were  cured,  monog- 
amy, in  the  sense  of  having  only  one  husband  or  wife 
at  a  time  (facilities  for  changing  are  another  matter), 
would  be  found  satisfactory. 

Difference  between  Oriental  and 
Occidental  Polygyny 

It  may  now  be  asked  why  the  polygynist  nations  have 
not  gravitated  to  monogamy,  like  the  latter-day  saints  of 
Salt  Lake  City.  The  answer  is  not  far  to  seek:  their 
polygyny  is  limited.  By  the  Mohammedan  law  a  man 
cannot  marry  more  than  four  wives;  and  by  the  unwrhV 
ten  law  of  necessity  no  man  can  keep  more  wives  than 
he  can  afford;  so  that  a  man  with  four  wives  must  be 
quite  as  exceptional  in  Asia  as  a  man  with  a  carriage- 
and-pair  or  a  motor  car  is  in  Europe,  where,  nevertheless, 


38  Getting  Married 

we  may  all  have  as  many  carriages  anC  motors  as  we  can 
afford  to  pay  for.  Kulin  polygyny,  tl  ough  unlimited,  is 
not  really  a  popular  institution:  if  ycu  are  a  person  of 
high  caste  you  pay  another  person  or  very  august  caste 
indeed  to  make  your  daughter  momentarily  one  of  his 
sixty  or  seventy  momentary  wives  for  the  sake  of  en- 
nobling your  grandchildren;  but  this  fashion  of  a  small 
and  intensely  snobbish  class  is  negligible  as  a  general 
precedent.  In  any  case,  men  and  women  in  the  East  do 
not  marry  anyone  they  fancy,  as  in  England  and  Amer- 
ica. Women  are  secluded  and  marriages  are  arranged. 
In  Salt  Lake  City  the  free  unsecluded  woman  could  see 
and  meet  the  ablest  man  of  the  community,  and  tempt 
him  to  make  her  his  tenth  wife  by  all  the  arts  peculiar 
to  women  in  English-speaking  countries.  No  eastern 
woman  can  do  anything  of  the  sort.  The  man  alone  has 
any  initiative;  but  he  has  no  access  to  the  woman;  be- 
sides, as  we  have  seen,  the  difficulty  created  by  male 
license  is  not  polygyny  but  polyandry,  which  is  not 
allowed. 

Consequently,  if  we  are  to  make  polygyny  a  success, 
we  must  limit  it.  If  we  have  two  women  to  every  one 
man,  we  must  allow  each  man  only  two  wives.  That  is 
simple;  but  unfortunately  our  own  actual  proportion  is, 
roughly,  something  like  l^\  woman  to  1  man.  Now  you 
cannot  enact  that  each  man  shall  be  allowed  l-j^j-  wives, 
or  that  each  woman  who  cannot  get  a  husband  all  to 
herself  shall  divide  herself  between  eleven  already  mar- 
ried husbands.  Thus  there  is  no  way  out  for  us  through 
polygyny.  There  is  no  way  at  all  out  of  the  present 
system  of  condemning  the  superfluous  women  to  barren- 
ness, except  by  legitimizing  the  children  of  women  who 
are  not  married  to  the  fathers. 


Preface  39 

The  Old  Maid's  Right  to  Motherhood 

Now  the  right  to  bear  children  without  taking  a  hus- 
band could  not  be  confined  to  women  who  are  superfluous 
in  the  monogamic  reckoning.  There  is  the  practical  dif- 
ficulty that  although  in  our  population  there  are  about  a 
million  monogamically  superfluous  women,  yet  it  is  quite 
impossible  to  say  of  any  given  unmarried  woman  that 
she  is  one  of  the  superfluous.  And  there  is  the  difficulty 
of  principle.  The  right  to  bear  a  child,  perhaps  the 
most  sacred  of  all  women's  rights,  is  not  one  that  should 
have  any  conditions  attached  to  it  except  in  the  interests 
of  race  welfare.  There  are  many  women  of  admirable 
character,  strong,  capable,  independent,  who  dislike  the 
domestic  habits  of  men;  have  no  natural  turn  for  moth- 
ering and  coddling  them ;  and  find  the  concession  of  con- 
jugal rights  to  any  person  under  any  conditions  intol- 
erable by  their  self-respect.  Yet  the  general  sense  of 
the  community  recognizes  in  these  very  women  the  fittest 
people  to  have  charge  of  children,  and  trusts  them,  as 
schoolmistresses  and  matrons  of  institutions,  more  than 
women  of  any  other  type  when  it  is  possible  to  procure 
them  for  such  work.  Why  should  the  taking  of  a  hus- 
band be  imposed  on  these  women  as  the  price  of  their 
right  to  maternity?  I  am  quite  unable  to  answer  that 
question.  I  see  a  good  deal  of  first-rate  maternal  ability 
and  sagacity  spending  itself  on  bees  ancf  poultry  and  vil- 
lage schools  and  cottage  hospitals;  and  I  find  myself 
repeatedly  asking  myself  why  this  valuable  strain  in  the 
national  breed  should  be  sterilized.  Unfortunately,  the 
very  women  whom  we  should  tempt  to  become  mothers 
for  the  good  of  the  race  are  the  very  last  people  to  press 
their  services  on  their  country  in  that  way.  Plato  long 
ago  pointed  out  the  importance*  of  being  governed  by  men 
with  sufficient  sense  of  responsibility  and  comprehension 
of  public  duties  to  be  very  reluctant  to  undertake  the 


40  Getting  Married 

work  of  governing;  and  yet  we  have  taken  his  instruction 
so  little  to  heart  that  we  are  at  present  suffering  acutely 
from  government  by  gentlemen  who  will  stoop  to  all  the 
mean  shifts  of  electioneering  and  incur  all  its  heavy  ex- 
penses for  the  sake  of  a  seat  in  Parliament.  But  what 
our  sentimentalists  have  not  yet  been  told  is  that  exactly 
the  same  thing  applies  to  maternity  as  to  government. 
The  best  mothers  are  not  those  who  are  so  enslaved  by 
their  primitive  instincts  that  they  will  bear  children  no 
matter  how  hard  the  conditions  are,  but  precisely  those 
who  place  a  very  high  price  on  their  services,  and  are 
quite  prepared  to  become  old  maids  if  the  price  is  re- 
fused, and  even  to  feel  relieved  at  their  escape.  Our 
democratic  and  matrimonial  institutions  may  have  their 
merits:  at  all  events  they  are  mostly  reforms  of  some- 
thing worse;  but  they  put  a  premium  on  want'of  self- 
respect  in  certain  very  important  matters;  and  the  con- 
sequence is  that  we  are  very  badly  governed  and  are,  on 
the  whole,  an  ugly,  mean,  ill-bred  race. 

Ibsen's  Chain  Stitch 

Let  us  not  forget,  however,  in  our  sympathy  for  the 
superfluous  women,  that  their  children  must  have  fathers 
as  well  as  mothers.  Who  are  the  fathers  to  be?  All 
monogamists  and  married  women  will  reply  hastily: 
either  bachelors  or  widowers;  and  this  solution  will  serve 
as  well  as  another;  for  it  would  be  hypocritical  to  pre- 
tend that  the  difficulty  is  a  practical  one.  None  the  less, 
the  monogamists,  after  due  reflection,  will  point  out  that 
if  there  ire  widowers  enough  the  superfluous  women  are 
not  really  superfluous,  and  therefore  there  is  no  reason 
why  the  parties  should  not  marry  respectably  like  other 
people.  And  they  might  in  that  case  be  right  if  the  rea- 
sons were  purely  numerical :  that  is,  if  every  woman  were 
willing  to  take  a  husband  if  one  could  be  found  for  her, 


Preface  41 

and  every  man  willing  to  take  a  wife  on  the  same  terms; 
also,  please  remember,  if  widows  would  remain  celibate 
to  give  the  unmarried  women  a  chance.  These  ifs  will 
not  work.  We  must  recognize  two  classes  of  old  maids: 
one,  the  really  superfluous  women,  and  the  other,  the 
women  who  refuse  to  accept  maternity  on  the  (to  them) 
unbearable  condition  of  taking  a  husband.  From  both 
classes  may,  perhaps,  be  subtracted  for  the  present  the 
large  proportion  of  women  who  could  not  afford  the  ex- 
tra expense  of  one  or  more  children.  I  say  "  perhaps," 
because  it  is  by  no  means  sure  that  within  reasonable 
limits  mothers  do  not  make  a  better  fight  for  subsistence, 
and  have  not,  on  the  whole,  a  better  time  than  single 
women.  In  any  case,  we  have  two  distinct  cases  to  deal 
with:  the  superfluous  and  the  voluntary;  and  it  is  the 
voluntary  whose  grit  we  are  most  concerned  to  fertilize. 
But  here,  again,  we  cannot  put  our  finger  on  any  par- 
ticular case  and  pick  out  Miss  Robinson's  as  superfluous, 
and  Miss  Wilkinson's  as  voluntary.  Whether  we  legiti- 
mize the  child  of  the  unmarried  woman  as  a  duty  to  the 
superfluous  or  as  a  bribe  to  the  voluntary,  the  practical 
result  must  be  the  same:  to  wit,  that  the  condition  of 
marriage  now  attached  to  legitimate  parentage  will  be 
withdrawn  from  all  women,  and  fertile  unions  outside 
marriage  recognized  by  society.  Now  clearly  the  conse- 
quences would  not  stop  there.  The  strong-minded  ladies 
who  are  resolved  to  be  mistresses  in  their  own  houses 
would  not  be  the  only  ones  to  take  advantage  of  the  new 
law.  Even  women  to  whom  a  home  without  a  man  in  it 
would  be  no  home  at  all,  and  who  fully  intended,  if  the 
man  turned  out  to  be  the  right  one,  to  live  with  him 
exactly  as  married  couples  live,  would,  if  they  were  pos- 
sessed of  independent  means,  have  every  inducement  to 
adopt  the  new  conditions  instead  of  the  old  ones.  Only 
the  women  whose  sole  means  of  livelihood  was  wifehood 
would  insist  on  marriage:  hence  a  tendency  would  set  in 


42  Getting  Married 

to  make  marriage  more  and  more  one  of  the  customs  im- 
posed by  necessity  on  the  poor,  whilst  the  freer  form  of 
union,  regulated,  no  doubt,  by  settlements  and  private 
contracts  of  various  kinds,  would  become  the  practice  of 
the  rich:  that  is,  would  become  the  fashion.  At  which 
point  nothing  but  the  achievement  of  economic  inde- 
pendence by  women,  which  is  already  seen  clearly  ahead 
of  us,  would  be  needed  to  make  marriage  disappear  alto- 
gether, not  by  formal  abolition,  but  by  simple  disuse. 
The  private  contract  stage  of  this  process  was  reached 
in  ancient  Rome.  The  only  practicable  alternative  to  it 
seems  to  be  such  an  extension  of  divorce  as  will  reduce 
the  risks  and  obligations  of  marriage  to  a  degree  at 
which  they  will  be  no  worse  than  those  of  the  alternatives 
to  marriage.  As  we  shall  see,  this  is  the  solution  to 
which  all  the  arguments  tend.  Meanwhile,  note  how 
much  reason  a  statesman  has  to  pause  before  meddling 
with  an  institution  which,  unendurable  as  its  drawbacks 
are,  threatens  to  come  to  pieces  in  all  directions  if  a  sin- 
gle thread  of  it  be  cut.  Ibsen's  similitude  of  the  ma- 
chine-made chain  stitch,  which  unravels  the  whole  seam  at 
the  first  pull  when  a  single  stitch  is  ripped,  is  very  ap- 
plicable to  the  knot  of  marriage. 

Remoteness  of  the  Facts  from  the  Ideal 

But  before  we  allow  this  to  deter  us  from  touching  the 
sacred  fabric,  we  must  find  out  whether  it  is  not  already 
coming  to  pieces  in  all  directions  by  the  continuous  strain 
of  circumstances.  No  doubt,  if  it  were  all  that  it  pre- 
tends to  be,  and  human  nature  were  working  smoothly 
within  its  limits,  there  would  be  nothing  more  to  be  said : 
it  would  be  let  alone  as  it  always  is  let  alone  during  the 
cruder  stages  of  civilization.  But  the  moment  we  refer 
to  the  facts,  we  discover  that  the  ideal  matrimony  and 
domesticity  which  our  bigots  implore  us  to  preserve  as 


Preface  43 

the  corner  stone  of  our  society  is  a  figment:  what  we 
have  really  got  is  something  very  different,  questionable 
at  its  best,  and  abominable  at  its  worst.  The  word  pure, 
so  commonly  applied  to  it  by  thoughtless  people,  is  ab- 
surd; because  if  they  do  not  mean  celibate  by  it,  they 
mean  nothing;  and  if  they  do  mean  celibate,  then  mar- 
riage is  legalized  impurity,  a  conclusion  which  is 
offensive  and  inhuman.  Marriage  as  a  fact  is  not  in 
the  least  like  marriage  as  an  ideal.  If  it  were,  the  sud- 
den changes  which  have  been  made  on  the  continent  from 
indissoluble  Roman  Catholic  marriage  to  marriage  that 
can  be  dissolved  by  a  box  on  the  ear  as  in  France,  by  an 
epithet  as  in  Germany,  or  simply  at  the  wish  of  both 
parties  as  in  Sweden,  not  to  mention  the  experiments 
made  by  some  of  the  American  States,  would  have  shaken 
society  to  its  foundations.  Yet  they  have  produced  so 
little  effect  that  Englishmen  open  their  eyes  in  surprise 
when  told  of  their  existence. 

Difficulty  of  Obtaining  Evidence 

As  to  what  actual  marriage  is,  one  would  like  evidence 
instead  of  guesses;  but  as  all  departures  from  the  ideal 
are  regarded  as  disgraceful,  evidence  cannot  be  obtained; 
for  when  the  whole  community  is  indicted,  nobody  will 
go  into  the  witness-box  for  the  prosecution.  Some 
guesses  we  can  make  with  some  confidence.  For  exam- 
ple, if  it  be  objected  to  any  change  that  our  bachelors 
and  widowers  would  no  longer  be  Galahads,  we  may 
without  extravagance  or  cynicism  reply  that  many  of 
them  are  not  Galahads  now,  and  that  the  only  change 
would  be  that  hypocrisy  would  no  longer  be  compulsory. 
Indeed,  this  can  hardly  be  called  guessing:  the  evidence 
is  in  the  streets.  But  when  We  attempt  to  find  out  the 
truth  about  our  marriages,  we  cannot  even  guess  with 
any  confidence.     Speaking  for  myself,  I  can  say  that  I 


44  Getting  Married 

know  the  inside  history  of  perhaps  half  a  dozen  mar- 
riages. Any  family  solicitor  knows  more  than  this;  but 
even  a  family  solicitor,  however  large  his  practice,  knows 
nothing  of  the  million  households  which  have  no  solic- 
itors, and  which  nevertheless  make  marriage  what  it 
really  is.  And  all  he  can  say  comes  to  no  more  than  I 
can  say :  to  wit,  that  no  marriage  of  which  I  have  any 
knowledge  is  in  the  least  like  the  ideal  marriage.  I  do 
not  mean  that  it  is  worse:  I  mean  simply  that  it  is  differ- 
ent. Also,  far  from  society  being  organized  in  a  defence 
of  its  ideal  so  jealous  and  implacable  that  the  least  step 
from  the  straight  path  means  exposure  and  ruin,  it  is 
almost  impossible  by  any  extravagance  of  misconduct  to 
provoke  society  to  relax  its  steady  pretence  of  blindness, 
unless  you  do  one  or  both  of  two  fatal  things.  One  is 
to  get  into  the  newspapers;  and  the  other  is  to  confess. 
If  you  confess  misconduct  to  respectable  men  or  women, 
they  must  either  disown  you  or  become  virtually  your 
accomplices :  that  is  why  they  are  so  angry  with  you  for 
confessing.  If  you  get  into  the  papers,  the  pretence  of 
not  knowing  becomes  impossible.  But  it  is  hardly  too 
much  to  say  that  if  you  avoid  these  two  perils,  you  can 
do  anything  you  like,  as  far  as  your  neighbors  are  con- 
cerned. And  since  we  can  hardly  flatter  ourselves  that 
this  is  the  effect  of  charity,  it  is  difficult  not  to  suspect 
that  our  extraordinary  forbearance  in  the  matter  of  stone 
throwing  is  that  suggested  in  the  well-known  parable 
of  the  women  taken  in  adultery  which  some  early  free- 
thinker slipped  into  the  Gospel  of  St  John :  namely,  that 
we  all  live  in  glass  houses.  We  may  take  it,  then,  that 
the  ideal  husband  and  the  ideal  wife  are  no  more  real 
human  beings  than  the  cherubim.  Possibly  the  great  ma- 
jority keeps  its  marriage  vows  in  the  technical  divorce 
court  sense.  No  husband  or  wife  yet  born  keeps  them  or 
ever  can  keep  them  in  the  ideal  sense. 


Preface  45 

Marriage  as  a  Magic  Spell 

The  truth  which  people  seem  to  overlook  in  this  matter 
is  that  the  marriage  ceremony  is  quite  useless  as  a  magic 
spell  for  changing  in  an  instant  the  nature  of  the  rela- 
tions of  two  human  beings  to  one  another.  If  a  man 
marries  a  woman  after  three  weeks  acquaintance,  and  the 
day  after  meets  a  woman  he  has  known  for  twenty  years, 
he  finds,  sometimes  to  his  own  irrational  surprise  and 
his  wife's  equally  irrational  indignation,  that  his  wife 
is  a  stranger  to  him,  and  the  other  woman  an  old  friend. 
Also,  there  is  no  hocus  pocus  that  can  possibly  be  de- 
vized with  rings  and  veils  and  vows  and  benedictions 
that  can  fix  either  a  man's  or  woman's  affection  for 
twenty  minutes,  much  less  twenty  years.  Even  the  most 
affectionate  couples  must  have  moments  during  which 
they  are  far  more  conscious  of  one  another's  faults  than 
of  one  another's  attractions.  There  are  couples  who  dis- 
like one  another  furiously  for  several  hours  at  a  time; 
there  are  couples  who  dislike  one  another  permanently; 
and  there  are  couples  who  never  dislike  one  another;  but 
these  last  are  people  who  are  incapable  of  disliking  any- 
body. If  they  do  not  quarrel,  it  is  not  because  they  are 
married,  but  because  they  are  not  quarrelsome.  The 
people  who  are  quarrelsome  quarrel  with  their  husbands 
and  wives  just  as  easily  as  with  their  servants  and  rel- 
atives and  acquaintances:  marriage  makes  no  difference. 
Those  who  talk  and  write  and  legislate  as  if  all  this 
could  be  prevented  by  making  solemn  vows  that  it  shall 
not  happen,  are  either  insincere,  insane,  or  hopelessly 
stupid.  There  is  some  sense  in  a  contract  to  perform  or 
abstain  from  actions  that  are  reasonably  within  voluntary 
control;  but  such  contracts  are  only  needed  to  provide 
against  the  possibility  of  either  party  being  no  longer  de- 
sirous of  the  specified  performance  or  abstention.  A 
person  proposing  or  accepting  a  contract  not  only  to  do 


46  Getting  Married 

something  but  to  like  doing  it  would  be  certified  as  mad. 
Yet  popular  superstition  credits  the  wedding  rite  with 
the  power  of  fixing  our  fancies  or  affections  for  life  even 
under  the  most  unnatural  conditions. 

The  Impersonality  of  Sex 

It  is  necessary  to  lay  some  stress  on  these  points,  be- 
cause few  realize  the  extent  to  which  we  proceed  on  the 
assumption  that  marriage  is  a  short  cut  to  perfect  and 
permanent  intimacy  and  affection.  But  there  is  a  still 
more  unworkable  assumption  which  must  be  discarded 
before  discussions  of  marriage  can  get  into  any  sort  of 
touch  with  the  facts  of  life.  That  assumption  is  that  the 
specific  relation  which  marriage  authorizes  between  the 
parties  is  the  most  intimate  and  personal  of  human  rela- 
tions, and  embraces  all  the  other  high  human  relations. 
Now  this  is  violently  untrue.  Every  adult  knows  that 
the  relation  in  question  can  and  does  exist  between  entire 
strangers,  different  in  language,  color,  tastes,  class,  civ- 
ilization, morals,  religion,  character:  in  everything,  in 
short,  except  their  bodily  homology  and  the  reproductive 
appetite  common  to  all  living  organisms.  Even  hatred, 
cruelty,  and  contempt  are  not  incompatible  with  it;  and 
jealousy  and  murder  are  as  near  to  it  as  affectionate 
friendship.  It  is  true  that  it  is  a  relation  beset  with 
wildly  extravagant  illusions  for  inexperienced  people, 
and  that  even  the  most  experienced  people  have  not 
always  sufficient  analytic  faculty  to  disentangle  it  from 
the  sentiments,  sympathetic  or  abhorrent,  which  may 
spring  up  through  the  other  relations  which  are  com- 
pulsorily  attached  to  it  by  our  laws,  or  sentimentally 
associated  with  it  in  romance.  But  the  fact  remains  that 
the  most  disastrous  marriages  are  those  founded  exclu- 
sively on  it,  and  the  most  successful  those  in  which  it 
has  been  least  considered,  and  in  which  the  decisive  con- 


Preface  47 

siderations  have  had  nothing  to  do  with  sex,  such  as 
liking,  money,  congeniality  of  tastes,  similarity  of  hab- 
its, suitability  of  class,  &c,  &c. 

It  is  no  doubt  necessary  under  existing  circumstances 
for  a  woman  without  property  to  be  sexually  attractive, 
because  she  must  get  married  to  secure  a  livelihood;  and 
the  illusions  of  sexual  attraction  will  cause  the  imagina- 
tion of  young  men  to  endow  her  with  every  accomplish- 
ment and  virtue  that  can  make  a  wife  a  treasure.     The 
attraction  being  thus  constantly  and  ruthlessly  used  as 
a  bait,  both  by  individuals  and  by  society,  any  discussion 
tending  to   strip  it  of  its  illusions  and  get  at  its  real 
natural  history  is  nervously  discouraged.      But  nothing 
can  well  be  more  unwholesome  for  everybody  than  the 
exaggeration  and  glorification  of  an  instinctive  function 
which  clouds  the  reason  and  upsets  the  judgment  more 
than  all  the  other  instincts  put  together.     The  process 
may  be  pleasant  and  romantic;  but  the  consequences  are 
not.     It  would  be  far  better  for  everyone,  as  well  as  far 
honester,  if  young  people  were  taught  that  what  they 
call  love  is  an  appetite  which,  like  all  other  appetites, 
is  destroyed   for  the  moment  by  its   gratification;  that 
no  profession,  promise,  or  proposal  made  under  its  in- 
fluence should  bind  anybody;  and  that  its  great  natural 
purpose  so  completely  transcends  the  personal  interests 
of  any  individual  or  even  of  any  ten  generations  of  in- 
dividuals that  it  should  be  held  to  be  an  act  of  prostitu- 
tion and  even  a  sort  of  blasphemy  to  attempt  to  turn  it 
to  account  by  exacting  a  personal  return  for  its  gratifica- 
tion, whether  by  process  of  law  or  not.     By  all  means 
let  it  be  the  subject  of  contracts  with  society  as  to  its 
consequences;  but  to  make  marriage  an  open  trade  in  it 
ns  at  present,  with  money,  board  and  lodging,  personal 
slavery,  vows  of  eternal  exclusive  personal  sentimental- 
ities and  the  rest  of  it  as  the  price,  is  neither  virtuous, 
dignified,  nor  decent.     No  husband  ever  secured  his  do- 


48  Getting  Married 

mestic  happiness  and  honor,  nor  has  any  wife  ever  se- 
cured hers,  by  relying  on  it,  No  private  claims  of  any  I , 
sort  should  be  founded  on  it:  the  real  point  of  honor  is  J 
to  take  no  corrupt  advantage  of  it.  When  we  hear  of 
young  women  being  led  astray  and  the  like,  we  find  that 
what  has  led  them  astray  is  a  sedulously  inculcated  false 
notion  that  the  relation  they  are  tempted  to  contract  is 
so  intensely  personal,  and  the  vows  made  under  the  in- 
fluence of  its  transient  infatuation  so  sacred  and  endur- 
ing, that  only  an  atrociously  wicked  man  could  make 
light  of  or  forget  them.  What  is  more,  as  the  same  fan- 
tastic errors  are  inculcated  in  men,  and  the  conscientious 
ones  therefore  feel  bound  in  honor  to  stand  by  what  they 
have  promised,  one  of  the  surest  methods  to  obtain  a 
husband  is  to  practise  on  his  susceptibilities  until  he  is 
either  carried  away  into  a  promise  of  marriage  to  which 
he  can  be  legally  held,  or  else  into  an  indiscretion  which 
he  must  repair  by  marriage  on  pain  of  having  to  regard 
himself  as  a  scoundrel  and  a  seducer,  besides  facing  the 
utmost  damage  the  lady's  relatives  can  do  him. 

Such  a  transaction  is  not  an  entrance  into  a  '  holy 
state  of  matrimony  " :  it  is  as  often  as  not  the  inaugura- 
tion of  a  lifelong  squabble,  a  corroding  grudge,  that 
causes  more  misery  and  degradation  of  character  than  a 
dozen  entirely  natural  "  desertions  "  and  "  betrayals." 
Yet  the  number  of  marriages  effected  more  or  less  in  this 
way  must  be  enormous.  When  people  say  that  love 
should  be  free,  their  words,  taken  literally,  may  be  fool- 
ish; but  they  are  only  expressing  inaccurately  a  very 
real  need  for  the  disentanglement  of  sexual  relations 
from  a  mass  of  exorbitant  and  irrelevant  conditions  im- 
posed on  them  on  false  pretences  to  enable  needy  par- 
ents to  get  their  daughters  "off  their  hands'  and  to 
keep  those  who  are  already  married  effectually  enslaved 
by  one  another. 


Preface  49 

The  Economic  Slavery  of  Women 

One  of  the  consequences  of  basing  marriage  on  the 
considerations  stated  with  cold  abhorrence  by  Saint  Paul 
in  the  seventh  chapter  of  his  epistle  to  the  Corinthians, 
as  being  made  necessary  by  the  unlikeness  of  most  men 
to  himself,  is  that  the  sex  slavery  involved  has  become 
complicated  by  economic  slavery;  so  that  whilst  the  man 
defends  marriage  because  he  is  really  defending  his 
pleasures,  the  woman  is  even  more  vehement  on  the 
same  side  because  she  is  defending  her  only  means  of 
livelihood.  To  a  woman  without  property  or  marketable 
talent  a  husband  is  more  necessary  than  a  master  to  a 
dog.  There  is  nothing  more  wounding  to  our  sense  of 
human  dignity  than  the  husband  hunting  that  begins  in 
every  family  when  the  daughters  become  marriageable; 
but  it  is  inevitable  under  existing  circumstances;  and  the 
parents  who  refuse  to  engage  in  it  are  bad  parents, 
though  they  may  be  superior  individuals.  The  cubs  of 
a  humane  tigress  would  starve;  and  the  daughters  of 
women  who  cannot  bring  themselves  to  devote  several 
years  of  their  lives  to  the  pursuit  of  sons-in-law  often 
have  to  expatiate  their  mother's  squeamishness  by  life- 
long celibacy  and  indigence.  To  ask  a  young  man  his 
intentions  when  you  know  he  has  no  intentions,  but  is 
unable  to  deny  that  he  has  paid  attentions;  to  threaten 
an  action  for  breach  of  promise  of  marriage;  to  pretend 
that  your  daughter  is  a  musician  when  she  has  with  the 
greatest  difficulty  been  coached  into  playing  three  piano- 
forte pieces  which  she  loathes;  to  use  your  own  mature 
charms  to  attract  men  to  the  house  when  your  daughters 
have  no  aptitude  for  that  department  of  sport;  to  coach 
them,  when  they  have,  in  the  arts  by  which  men  can  be 
led  to  compromize  themselves;  and  to  keep  all  the  skel- 
etons carefully  locked  up  in  the  family  cupboard  until 
the  prey  is  duly  hunted  down  and  bagged:  all  this  is  a 


5G  Getting  Married 

mother's  duty  today;  and  a  very  revolting  duty  it  is: 
one  that  disposes  of  the  conventional  assumption  that  it 
is  in  the  faithful  discharge  of  her  home  duties  that  a  J 
woman  finds  her  self-respect.  The  truth  is  that  family 
life  will  never  be  decent,  much  less  ennobling,  until  this 
central  horror  of  the  dependence  of  women  on  men  is 
done  away  with.  At  present  it  reduces  the  difference 
between  marriage  and  prostitution  to  the  difference  be- 
tween Trade  Unionism  and  unorganized  casual  labor: 
a  huge  difference,  no  doubt,  as  to  order  and  comfort,  but 
not  a  difference  in  kind. 

However,  it  is  not  by  any  reform  of  the  marriage  laws 
that  this  can  be  dealt  with.  It  is  in  the  general  move- 
ment for  the  prevention  of  destitution  that  the  means  for 
making  women  independent  of  the  compulsory  sale  of 
their  persons,  in  marriage  or  otherwise,  will  be  found; 
but  meanwhile  those  who  deal  specifically  with  the  mar- 
riage laws  should  never  allow  themselves  for  a  moment 
to  forget  this  abomination  that  "  plucks  the  rose  from 
the  fair  forehead  of  an  innocent  love,  and  sets  a  blister 
there,"  and  then  calmly  calls  itself  purity,  home,  mother- 
hood, respectability,  honor,  decency,  and  any  other  fine 
name  that  happens  to  be  convenient,  not  to  mention  the 
foul  epithets  it  hurls  freely  at  those  who  are  ashamed 
of  it. 

Unpopularity  of  Impersonal  Views 

Unfortunately  it  is  very  hard  to  make  an  average  cit- 
izen take  impersonal  views  of  any  sort  in  matters  affect- 
ing personal  comfort  or  conduct.  We  may  be  enthusias- 
tic Liberals  or  Conservatives  without  any  hope  of  seats 
in  Parliament,  knighthoods,  or  posts  in  the  Government, 
because  party  politics  do  not  make  the  slightest  differ- 
ence in  our  daily  lives  and  therefore  cost  us  nothing. 
But  to  take  a  vital  process  in  which  we  are  keenly  inter- 


Preface  51 

ested  personal  instruments,  and  ask  ns  to  regard  it,  and 
feel  about  it,  and  legislate  on  it,  wholly  as  if  it  were  an 
impersonal  one,  is  to  make  a  higher  demand  than  most 
people  seem  capable  of  responding  to.  We  all  have  per- 
sonal interests  in  marriage  which  we  are  not  prepared  to 
sink.  It  is  not  only  the  women  who  want  to  get  mar- 
ried: the  men  do  too,  sometimes  on  sentimental  grounds, 
sometimes  on  the  more  sordid  calculation  that  bachelor 
life  is  less  comfortable  and  more  expensive,  since  a  wife 
pays  for  her  status  with  domestic  service  as  well  as  with 
the  other  services  expected  of  her.  Now  that  children 
are  avoidable,  this  calculation  is  becoming  more  common 
and  conscious  than  it  was:  a  result  which  is  regarded  as 
"  a  steady  improvement  in  general  morality." 

Impersonality  is  not  Promiscuity 

There  is,  too,  a  really  appalling  prevalence  of  the  su- 
perstition that  the  sexual  instinct  in  men  is  utterly  pro- 
miscuous, and  that  the  least  relaxation  of  law  and  cus- 
tom must  produce  a  wild  outbreak  of  licentiousness.  As 
far  as  our  moralists  can  grasp  the  proposition  that  we 
should  deal  with  the  sexual  relation  as  impersonal,  it 
seems  to  them  to  mean  that  we  should  encourage  it  to  be 
promiscuous:  hence  their  recoil  from  it.  But  promis- 
cuity and  impersonality  are  not  the  same  thing.  No 
man  ever  fell  in  love  with  the  entire  female  sex,  nor  any 
woman  with  the  entire  male  sex.  We  often  do  not  fall 
in  love  at  all;  and  when  we  do  we  fall  in  love  with  one 
person  and  remain  indifferent  to  thousands  of  others  who 
pass  before  our  eyes  every  day.  Selection,  carried  even 
to  such  fastidiousness  as  to  induce  people  to  say  quite 
commonly  that  there  is  only  one  man  or  woman  in  the 
world  for  them,  is  the  rule  in  nature.  If  anyone  doubts 
this,  let  him  open  a  shop  for  the  sale  of  picture  post- 
cards, and,  when  an  enamoured  lady  customer  demands 


52  Getting  Married 

a  portrait  of  her  favorite  actor  or  a  gentleman  of  his 
favorite  actress,  try  to  substitute  some  other  portrait  on 
the  ground  that  since  the  sexual  instinct  is  promiscuous, 
one  portrait  is  as  pleasing  as  another.  I  suppose  no 
shopkeeper  has  ever  been  foolish  enough  to  do  such  a 
thing;  and  yet  all  our  shopkeepers,  the  moment  a  discus- 
sion arises  on  marriage,  will  passionately  argue  against 
all  reform  on  the  ground  that  nothing  but  the  most 
severe  coercion  can  save  their  wives  and  daughters  from 
quite  indiscriminate  rapine. 

Domestic  Change  of  Air 

Our  relief  at  the  morality  of  the  reassurance  that  man 
is  not  promiscuous  in  his  fancies  must  not  blind  us  to 
the  fact  that  he  is  (to  use  the  word  coined  by  certain 
American  writers  to  describe  themselves)  something  of  a 
Varietist.  Even  those  who  say  there  is  only  one  man 
or  woman  in  the  world  for  them,  find  that  it  is  not 
always  the  same  man  or  woman.  It  happens  that  our  f 
law  permits  us  to  study  this  phenomenon  among  entirely 
law-abiding  people.  I  know  one  lady  who  has  been  mar- 
ried five  times.  She  is,  as  might  be  expected,  a  wise, 
attractive,  and  interesting  woman.  The  question  is,  is 
she  wise,  attractive,  and  interesting  because  she  has  been 
married  five  times,  or  has  she  been  married  five  times 
because  she  is  wise,  attractive,  and  interesting?  Prob- 
ably some  of  the  truth  lies  both  ways.  I  also  know  of  a 
household  consisting  of  three  families,  A  having  married 
first  B,  and  then  C,  who  afterwards  married  D.  All 
three  unions  were  fruitful;  so  that  the  children  had  a 
change  both  of  fathers  and  mothers.  Now  I  cannot  hon- 
estly say  that  these  and  similar  cases  have  convinced  me 
that  people  are  the  worse  for  a  change.  The  lady  who 
has  married  and  managed  five  husbands  must  be  much 
more  expert  at  it  than  most  monogamic  ladies;  and  as  a 


Preface  53 

companion  and  counsellor  she  probably  leaves  them  no- 
where.    Mr  Kipling's  question 

What  can  they  know  of  England  that  only  England  know? 

disposes  not  only  of  the  patriots  who  are  so  patriotic  that 
they  never  leave  their  own  country  to  look  at  another, 
hut  of  the  citizens  who  are  so  domestic  that  they  have 
never  married  again  and  never  loved  anyone  except  their 
own  husbands  and  wives.  The  domestic  doctrinaires  are 
also  the  dull  people.  The  impersonal  relation  of  sex 
may  be  judicially  reserved  for  one  person;  but  any  such 
reservation  of  friendship,  affection,  admiration,  sympa- 
thy and  so  forth  is  only  possible  to  a  wretchedly  narrow 
and  jealous  nature;  and  niether  history  nor  contemporary 
society  shews  us  a  single  amiable  and  respectable  char- 
acter capable  of  it.  This  has  always  been  recognized  in 
cultivated  society:  that  is  why  poor  people  accuse  culti- 
vated society  of  profligacy,  poor  people  being  often  so 
ignorant  and  uncultivated  that  they  have  nothing  to  offer 
each  other  but  the  sex  relationship,  and  cannot  conceive 
why  men  and  women  should  associate  for  any  other 
purpose. 

As  to  the  children  of  the  triple  household,  they  were 
not  only  on  excellent  terms  with  one  another,  and  never 
thought  of  any  distinction  between  their  full  and  their 
half  brothers  and  sisters;  but  they  had  the  superior  so- 
ciability which  distinguishes  the  people  who  live  in  com- 
munities from  those  who  live  in  small  families. 

The  inference  is  that  changes  of  partners  are  not  in 
themselves  injurious  or  undesirable.  People  are  not  de- 
moralized by  them  when  they  are  effected  according  to 
law.  Therefore  we  need  not  hesitate  to  alter  the  law 
merely  because  the  alteration  would  make  such  changes 
easier. 


54  Getting  Married 

Home  Manners  are  Bad  Manners 

On  the  other  hand,  we  have  all  seen  the  bonds  of  mar- 
riage vilely  abused  by  people  who  are  never  classed  with 
shrews  and  wife-beaters :  they  are  indeed  sometimes  held 
np  as  models  of  domesticity  because  they  do  not  drink 
nor  gamble  nor  neglect  their  children  nor  tolerate  dirt 
and  untidiness,  and  because  they  are  not  amiable  enough 
to  have  what  are  called  amiable  weaknesses.  These  ter- 
rors conceive  marriage  as  a  dispensation  from  all  the 
common  civilities  and  delicacies  which  they  have  to  ob- 
serve among  strangers,  or,  as  they  put  it,  "  before  com- 
pany." And  here  the  effects  of  indissoluble  marriage- 
for-better-for-worse  are  very  plainly  and  disagreeably 
seen.  If  such  people  took  their  domestic  manners  into 
general  society,  they  would  very  soon  find  themselves 
without  a  friend  or  even  an  acquaintance  in  the  world. 
There  are  women  who,  through  total  disuse,  have  lost  the 
power  of  kindly  human  speech  and  can  only  scold  and  J 
complain:  there  are  men  who  grumble  and  nag  from  in- 
veterate habit  even  when  they  are  comfortable.  But 
their  unfortunate  spouses  and  children  cannot  escape 
from  them. 

Spurious  "Natural"  Affection 

What  is  more,  they  are  protected  from  even  such  dis- 
comfort as  the  dislike  of  his  prisoners  may  cause  to  a 
gaoler  by  the  hypnotism  of  the  convention  that  the  nat- 
ural relation  between  husband  and  wife  and  parent  and 
child  is  one  of  intense  affection,  and  that  to  feel  any 
other  sentiment  towards  a  member  of  one's  family  is  to 
be  a  monster.  Under  the  influence  of  the  emotion  thus 
manufactured  the  most  detestable  people  are  spoilt  with 
entirely  undeserved  deference,  obedience,  and  even  affec- 
tion whilst  they  live,  and  mourned  when  they  die  by 


Preface  55 

those  whose  lives  they  wantonly  or  maliciously  made 
miserable.  And  this  is  what  we  call  natural  conduct. 
Nothing  could  well  be  less  natural.  That  such  a  con- 
vention should  have  been  established  shews  that  the  in- 
dissolubility of  marriage  creates  such  intolerable  situa- 
tions that  only  by  beglamoring  the  human  imagination 
with  a  hypnotic  suggestion  of  wholly  unnatural  feelings 
can  it  be  made  to  keep  up  appearances. 

If  the  sentimental  theory  of  family  relationship  en- 
courages bad  manners  and  personal  slovenliness  and  un- 
cleanness  in  the  home,  it  also,  in  the  case  of  sentimental 
people,  encourages  the  practice  of  rousing  and  playing 
on  the  affections  of  children  prematurely  and  far  too  fre- 
quently. The  lady  who  says  that  as  her  religion  is  love, 
her  children  shall  be  brought  up  in  an  atmosphere 
of  love,  and  institutes  a  system  of  sedulous  endearments 
and  exchanges  of  presents  and  conscious  and  studied  acts 
of  artificial  kindness,  may  be  defeated  in  a  large  family 
by  the  healthy  derision  and  rebellion  of  children  who 
have  acquired  hardihood  and  common  sense  in  their  con- 
flicts with  one  another.  But  the  small  families,  which 
are  the  rule  just  now,  succumb  more  easily;  and  in  the 
case  of  a  single  sensitive  child  the  effect  of  being  forced 
in  a  hothouse  atmosphere  of  unnatural  affection  may  be 
disastrous. 

In  short,  whichever  way  you  take  it,  the  convention 
that  marriage  and  family  relationship  produce  special 
feelings  which  alter  the  nature  of  human  intercourse  is 
a  mischievous  one.  The  whole  difficulty  of  bringing  up 
a  family  well  is  the  difficulty  of  making  its  members  be- 
have as  considerately  at  home  as  on  a  visit  in  a  strange 
house,  and  as  frankly,  kindly,  and  easily  in  a  strange 
house  as  at  home.  In  the  middle  classes,  where  the  seg- 
regation of  the  artificially  limited  family  in  its  little 
brick  box  is  horribly  complete,  bad  manners,  ugly 
dresses,  awkwardness,  cowardice,  peevishness,  and  all  the 


56  Getting  Married 

petty  vices  of  unsociability  flourish  like  mushrooms  in  a 
cellar.  In  the  upper  class,  where  families  are  not  limited 
for  money  reasons;  where  at  least  two  houses  and  some- 
times three  or  four  are  the  rule  (not  to  mention  the 
clubs) ;  where  there  is  travelling  and  hotel  life ;  and 
where  the  men  are  brought  up,  not  in  the  family,,  but  in 
public  schools,  universities,  and  the  naval  and  military 
services,  besides  being  constantly  in  social  training  in 
other  people's  houses,  the  result  is  to  produce  what  may 
be  called,  in  comparison  with  the  middle  class,  something 
that  might  almost  pass  as  a  different  and  much  more 
sociable  species.  And  in  the  very  poorest  class,  where 
people  have  no  homes,  only  sleeping  places,  and  conse- 
quently live  practically  in  the  streets,  sociability  again 
appears,  leaving  the  middle  class  despised  and  disliked 
for  its  helpless  and  offensive  unsociability  as  much  by 
those  below  it  as  those  above  it,  and  yet  ignorant  enough 
to  be  proud  of  it,  and  to  hold  itself  up  as  a  model  for 
the  reform  of  the  (as  it  considers)  elegantly  vicious  rich 
and  profligate  poor  alike. 

Carrying  the  War  into  the  Enemy's 

Country 

Without  pretending  to  exhaust  the  subject,  I  have 
said  enough  to  make  it  clear  that  the  moment  we  lose  the 
desire  to  defend  our  present  matrimonial  and  family  ar- 
rangements, there  will  be  no  difficulty  in  making  out  an 
overwhelming  case  against  them.  No  doubt  until  then 
we  shall  continue  to  hold  up  the  British  home  as  the 
Holy  of  Holies  in  the  temple  of  honorable  motherhood, 
innocent  childhood,  manly  virtue,  and  sweet  and  whole- 
some national  life.  But  with  a  clever  turn  of  the  hand 
this  holy  of  holies  can  be  exposed  as  an  Augean  stable, 
so  filthy  that  it  would  seem  more  hopeful  to  burn  it  down 
than  to  attempt  to  sweep  it  out.     And  this  latter  view 


Preface  57 

will  perhaps  prevail  if  the  idolaters  of  marriage  persist 
in  refusing  all  proposals  for  reform  and  treating  those 
who  advocate  it  as  infamous  delinquents.  Neither  view 
is  of  any  use  except  as  a  poisoned  arrow  in  a  fierce  fight 
between  two  parties  determined  to  discredit  each  other 
with  a  view  to  obtaining  powers  of  legal  coercion  over 
one  another. 


Shelley  and  Queen  Victoria 

The  best  way  to  avert  such  a  struggle  is  to  open  the 
eyes  of  the  thoughtlessly  conventional  people  to  the 
weakness  of  their  position  in  a  mere  contest  of  recrim- 
ination. Hitherto  they  have  assumed  that  they  have  the 
advantage  of  coming  into  the  field  without  a  stain  on 
their  characters  to  combat  libertines  who  have  no  charac- 
ter at  all.  They  conceive  it  to  be  their  duty  to  throw 
mud;  and  they  feel  that  even  if  the  enemy  can  find  any 
mud  to  throw,  none  of  it  will  stick.  They  are  mistaken. 
There  will  be  plenty  of  that  sort  of  ammunition  in  the 
other  camp;  and  most  of  it  will  stick  very  hard  indeed. 
The  moral  is,  do  not  throw  any.  If  we  can  imagine 
Shelley  and  Queen  Victoria  arguing  out  their  differences 
in  another  world,  we  may  be  sure  that  the  Queen  has 
long  ago  found  that  she  cannot  settle  the  question  by 
classing  Shelley  with  George  IV.  as  a  bad  man;  and 
Shelley  is  not  likely  to  have  called  her  vile  names  on 
the  general  ground  that  as  the  economic  dependence  of 
women  makes  marriage  a  money  bargain  in  which  the 
man  is  the  purchaser  and  the  woman  the  purchased,  there 
is  no  essential  difference  between  a  married  woman  and 
the  woman  of  the  streets.  Unfortunately,  all  the  people 
whose  methods  of  controversy  are  represented  by  our 
popular  newspapers  are  not  Queen  Victorias  and  Shel- 
leys.  A  great  mass  of  them,  when  their  prejudices  are 
challenged,  have  no  other  impulse  than  to  call  the  chal- 


58  Getting  Married 

lenger  names,  and,  when  the  crowd  seems  to  be  on  their 
side,  to  maltreat  him  personally  or  hand  him  over  to  the 
law,  if  he  is  vulnerable  to  it.  Therefore  I  cannot  say 
that  I  have  any  certainty  that  the  marriage  question  will 
be  dealt  with  decently  and  tolerantly.  But  dealt  with 
it  will  be,  decently  or  indecently;  for  the  present  state 
of  things  in  England  is  too  strained  and  mischievous  to 
last.  Europe  and  America  have  left  us  a  century  behind 
in  this  matter. 

A  Probable  Effect  of  Giving  Women  the 

Vote 

The  political  emancipation  of  women  is  likely  to  lead 
to  a  comparatively  stringent  enforcement  by  law  of 
sexual  morality  (that  is  why  so  many  of  us  dread  it) ; 
and  this  will  soon  compel  us  to  consider  what  our  sexual 
morality  shall  be.  At  present  a  ridiculous  distinction  is 
made  between  vice  and  crime,  in  order  that  men  may  be 
vicious  with  impunity.  Adultery,  for  instance,  though 
it  is  sometimes  fiercely  punished  by  giving  an  injured 
husband  crushing  damages  in  a  divorce  suit  (injured 
wives  are  not  considered  in  this  way),  is  not  now  di- 
rectly prosecuted;  and  this  impunity  extends  to  illicit 
relations  between  unmarried  persons  who  have  reached 
what  is  called  the  age  of  consent.  There  are  other  mat- 
ters, such  as  notification  of  contagious  disease  and  solic- 
itation, in  which  the  hand  of  the  law  has  been  brought 
down  on  one  sex  only.  Outrages  which  were  capital 
offences  within  the  memory  of  persons  still  living  when 
committed  on  women  outside  marriage,  can  still  be  in- 
flicted by  men  on  their  wives  without  legal  remedy.  At 
all  such  points  the  code  will  be  screwed  up  by  the  opera- 
tion of  Votes  for  Women,  if  there  be  any  virtue  in  the 
franchise  at  all.  The  result  will  be  that  men  will  find 
the  more  ascetic  side  of  our  sexual  morality  taken  seri- 


Preface  59 

ously  by  the  law.  It  is  easy  to  foresee  the  consequences. 
No  man  will  take  much  trouble  to  alter  laws  which  he 
can  evade,  or  which  are  either  not  enforced  or  enforced 
on  women  only.  But  when  these  laws  take  him  by  the 
collar  and  thrust  him  into  prison,  he  suddenly  becomes 
keenly  critical  of  them,  and  of  the  arguments  by  which 
they  are  supported.  Now  we  have  seen  that  our  mar- 
riage laws  will  not  stand  criticism,  and  that  they  have 
held  out  so  far  only  because  they  are  so  worked  as  to  fit 
roughly  our  state  of  society,  in  which  women  are  neither 
politically  nor  personally  free,  in  which  indeed  women 
are  called  womanly  only  when  they  regard  themselves  as 
existing  solely  for  the  use  of  men.  When  Liberalism  en- 
franchises them  politically,  and  Socialism  emancipates 
them  economically,  they  will  no  longer  allow  the  law  to 
take  immorality  so  easily.  Both  men  and  women  will  be 
forced  to  behave  morally  in  sex  matters;  and  when  they 
find  that  this  is  inevitable  they  will  raise  the  question 
of  what  behavior  really  should  be  established  as  moral. 
If  they  decide  in  favor  of  our  present  professed  morality, 
they  will  have  to  make  a  revolutionary  change  in  their 
habits  by  becoming  in  fact  what  they  only  pretend  to  be 
at  present.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  they  find  that  this 
would  be  an  unbearable  tyranny,  without  even  the  excuse 
of  justice  or  sound  eugenics,  they  will  reconsider  their 
morality  and  remodel  the  law. 

The  Personal  Sentimental  Basis  of 
Monogamy 

Monogamy  has  a  sentimental  basis  which  is  quite  dis- 
tinct from  the  political  one  of  equal  numbers  of  the 
sexes.  Equal  numbers  in  the  sexes  are  quite  compatible 
with  a  change  of  partners  every  day  or  every  hour. 
Physically  there  is  nothing  to  distinguish  human  society 
from    the    farm-yard    except    that    children    are    more 


60  Getting  Married 

troublesome  and  costly  than  chickens  and  calves,  and 
that  men  and  women  are  not  so  completely  enslaved  as 
farm  stock.  Accordingly,  the  people  whose  conception 
of  marriage  is  a  farm-yard  or  slave-quarter  conception 
are  always  more  or  less  in  a  panic  lest  the  slightest  re- 
laxation of  the  marriage  laws  should  utterly  demoralize 
society;  whilst  those  to  whom  marriage  is  a  matter  of 
more  highly  evolved  sentiments  and  needs  (sometimes 
said  to  be  distinctively  human,  though  birds  and  animals 
in  a  state  of  freedom  evince  them  quite  as  touchingly  as 
we)  are  much  more  liberal,  knowing  as  they  do  that 
monogamy  will  take  care  of  itself  provided  the  parties 
are  free  enough,  and  that  promiscuity  is  a  product  of 
slavery  and  not  of  liberty. 

The  solid  foundation  of  their  confidence  is  the  fact 
that  the  relationship  set  up  by  a  comfortable  marriage 
is  so  intimate  and  so  persuasive  of  the  whole  life  of  the 
parties  to  it,  that  nobody  has  room  in  his  or  her  life 
for  more  than  one  such  relationship  at  a  time.  What  is 
called  a  household  of  three  is  never  really  of  three  except 
in  the  sense  that  every  household  becomes  a  household 
of  three  when  a  child  is  born,  and  may  in  the  same  way 
become  a  household  of  four  or  fourteen  if  the  union  be 
fertile  enough.  Now  no  doubt  the  marriage  tie  means 
so  little  to  some  people  that  the  addition  to  the  house- 
hold of  half  a  dozen  more  wives  or  husbands  would  be 
as  possible  as  the  addition  of  half  a  dozen  governesses 
or  tutors  or  visitors  or  servants.  A  Sultan  may  have 
fifty  wives  as  easily  as  he  may  have  fifty  dishes  on  his 
table,  because  in  the  English  sense  he  has  no  wives  at 
all;  nor  have  his  wives  any  husband:  in  short,  he  is  not 
what  we  call  a  married  man.  And  there  are  sultans  and 
sultanas  and  seraglios  existing  in  England  under  Eng- 
lish forms.  But  when  you  come  to  the  real  modern  mar- 
riage of  sentiment,  a  relation  is  created  which  has  never 
to  my  knowledge  been  shared  by  three  persons  except 


V 


Sa 


Preface  61 

when  all  three  have  been  extraordinarily  fond  of  one 
another.  Take  for  example  the  famous  case  of  Nelson 
and  Sir  William  and  Lady  Hamilton.  The  secret  of 
this  household  of  three  was  not  only  that  both  the  hus- 
band and  Nelson  were  devoted  to  Lady  Hamilton,  but 
that  they  were  also  apparently  devoted  to  one  another. 
When  Hamilton  died  both  Nelson  and  Emma  seem  to 
have  been  equally  heartbroken.  When  there  is  a  success- 
ful household  of  one  man  and  two  women  the  same  un- 
usual condition  is  fulfilled:  the  two  women  not  only  can- 
not live  happily  without  the  man  but  cannot  live  happily 
without  each  other.  In  every  other  case  known  to  me, 
either  from  observation  or  record,  the  experiment  is  a 
hopeless  failure:  one  of  the  two  rivals  for  the  really  in- 
timate affection  of  the  third  inevitably  drives  out  the 
other.  The  driven-out  party  may  accept  the  situation 
and  remain  in  the  house  as  a  friend  to  save  appearances, 
or  for  the  sake  of  the  children,  or  for  economic  reasons; 
but  such  an  arrangement  can  subsist  only  when  the  for- 
feited relation  is  no  longer  really  valued;  and  this  in- 
difference, like  the  triple  bond  of  affection  which  carried 
Sir  William  Hamilton  through,  is  so  rare  as  to  be  prac- 
ticably negligible  in  the  establishment  of  a  conventional 
morality  of  marriage.  Therefore  sensible  and  experi- 
enced people  always  assume  that  when  a  declaration  of 
love  is  made  to  an  already  married  person,  the  declara- 
tion binds  the  parties  in  honor  never  to  see  one  another 
again  unless  they  contemplate  divorce  and  remarriage. 
And  this  is  a  sound  convention,  even  for  unconventional 
people.  Let  me  illustrate  by  reference  to  a  fictitious 
case:  the  one  imagined  in  my  own  play  Candida  will  do 
as  well  as  another.  Here  a  young  man  who  has  been 
received  as  a  friend  into  the  house  of  a  clergyman  falls 
in  love  with  the  clergyman's  wife,  and,  being  young  and 
inexperienced,  declares  his  feelings,  and  claims  that  he, 
and  not  the  clergyman,  ia  the  more  suitable  mate  for  the 


62  Getting  Married 

lady.     The  clergyman,  who  has  a  temper,  is  first  tempted 
to  hurl  the  youth  into  the  street  by  bodily  violence:  an 
impulse  natural,  perhaps,  but  vulgar  and  improper,  and 
not  open,  on  consideration,  to  decent  men.     Even  coarse 
and  inconsiderate  men  are  restrained  from  it  by  the  fact 
that  the  sympathy  of  the  woman  turns  naturally  to  the 
victim  of  physical  brutality  and  against  the  bully,  the 
Thackerayan   notion  to  the   contrary  being  one   of  the 
illusions  of  literary  masculinity.     Besides,  the  husband 
is  not  necessarily  the  stronger  man:  an  appeal  to  force 
has  resulted  in  the  ignominious  defeat  of  the  husband 
quite  as  often  as  in  poetic  justice  as  conceived  in  the 
conventional  novelet.     What  an  honorable  and  sensible 
man  does  when  his  household  is  invaded  is  what  the  Rev- 
erend James  Mavor  Morell  does  in  my  play.     He  recog- 
nizes that  just  as  there  is  not  room  for  two  women  in 
that  sacredly  intimate  relation  of  sentimental  domesticity 
which  is  what  marriage  means  to  him,  so  there  is  no 
room  for  two  men  in  that  relation  with  his  wife;  and  he 
accordingly  tells  her  firmly  that  she  must  choose  which 
man  will  occupy  the  place  that  is  large  enough  for  one 
only.     He  is  so  far  shrewdly  unconventional  as  to  rec- 
ognize that  if  she  chooses  the  other  man,  he  must  give 
way,  legal  tie  or  no  legal  tie;  but  he  knows  that  either 
one  or  the  other  must  go.     And  a  sensible  wife  would 
act  in  the  same  way.     If  a  romantic  young  lady  came  into 
her  house  and  proposed  to  adore  her  husband  on  a  tol- 
erated  footing,  she  would  say   "  My   husband  has  not 
room  in  his  life  for  two  wives:  either  you  go  out  of  the 
house  or  I  go  out  of  it."     The  situation  is  not  at  all  un- 
likely:  I  had  almost  said  not  at  all  unusual.     Young 
ladies  and  gentlemen  in  the  greensickly  condition  which 
is  called  calf-love,  associating  with  married  couples   at 
dangerous  periods  of  mature  life,  quite  often  find  them- 
selves in  it;  and  the  extreme  reluctance  of  proud  and 
sensitive  people  to  avoid  any  assertion  of  matrimonial 


Preface  63 

rights,  or  to  condescend  to  jealousy,  sometimes  makes 
the  threatened  husband  or  wife  hesitate  to  take  prompt 
steps  and  do  the  apparently  conventional  thing.  But 
whether  they  hesitate  or  act  the  result  is  always  the 
same.  In  a  real  marriage  of  sentiment  the  wife  or  hus- 
band cannot  be  supplanted  by  halves;  and  such  a  mar- 
riage will  break  very  soon  under  the  strain  of  polygyny 
or  polyandry.  What  we  want  at  present  is  a  sufficiently 
clear  teaching  of  this  fact  to  ensure  that  prompt  and 
decisive  action  shall  always  be  taken  in  such  cases  with- 
out any  false  shame  of  seeming  conventional  (a.  shame  to 
which  people  capable  of  such  real  marriage  are  specially 
susceptible),  and  a  rational  divorce  law  to  enable  the 
marriage  to  be  dissolved  and  the  parties  honorably  re- 
sorted and  recoupled  without  disgrace  and  scandal  if 
that  should  prove  the  proper  solution. 

It  must  be  repeated  here  that  no  law,  however  strin- 
gent, can  prevent  polygamy  among  groups  of  people  who 
choose  to  live  loosely  and  be  monogamous  only  in  ap- 
pearance. But  such  cases  are  not  now  under  considera- 
tion. Also,  affectionate  husbands  like  Samuel  Pepys,  and 
affectionate  wives  of  the  corresponding  temperament, 
may,  it  appears,  engage  in  transient  casual  adventures 
out  of  doors  without  breaking  up  their  home  life.  But 
within  doors  that  home  life  may  be  regarded  as  naturally 
monogamous.  It  does  not  need  to  be  protected  against 
polygamy:  it  protects  itself. 

Divorce 

All  this  has  an  important  bearing  on  the  question  of 
divorce.  Divorce  reformers  are  so  much  preoccupied 
with  the  injustice  of  forbidding  a  woman  to  divorce  her 
husband  for  unfaithfulness  to  his  marriage  vow,  whilst 
allowing  him  that  power  over  her,  that  they  are  apt  to 
overlook  the  pressing  need  for  admitting  other  and.  far 


64  Getting  Married 

more  important  grounds  for  divorce.  If  we  take  a  docu- 
ment like  Pepys'  Diary,  we  learn  that  a  woman  may  have 
an  incorrigibly  unfaithful  husband,  and  yet  be  much  bet-  I 
ter  off  than  if  she  had  an  ill-tempered,  peevish,  mali- 
ciously sarcastic  one,  or  was  chained  for  life  to  a  crimi- 
nal, a  drunkard,  a  lunatic,  an  idle  vagrant,  or  a  person 
whose  religious  faith  was  contrary  to  her  own.  Imagine 
being  married  to  a  liar,  a  borrower,  a  mischief  maker,  a 
teaser  or  tormentor  of  children  and  animals,  or  even  sim- 
ply to  a  bore!  Conceive  yourself  tied  for  life  to  one  of 
the  perfectly  "  faithful "  husbands  who  are  sentenced  to 
a  month's  imprisonment  occasionally  for  idly  leaving 
their  wives  in  childbirth  without  food,  fire,  or  attendance ! 
What  woman  would  not  rather  marry  ten  Pepyses  ?  what 
man  a  dozen  Nell  Gwynnes?  Adultery,  far  from  being 
the  first  and  only  ground  for  divorce,  might  more  reason- 
ably be  made  the  last,  or  wholly  excluded.  The  present 
law  is  perfectly  logical  only  if  you  once  admit  (as  no 
decent  person  ever  does)  its  fundamental  assumption 
that  there  can  be  no  companionship  between  men  and  ) 
women  because  the  woman  has  a  "  sphere  "  of  her  own, 
that  of  housekeeping,  in  which  the  man  must  not  meddle, 
whilst  he  has  all  the  rest  of  human  activity  for  his 
sphere:  the  only  point  at  which  the  two  spheres  touch 
being  that  of  replenishing  the  population.  On  this  as- 
sumption the  man  naturally  asks  for  a  guarantee  that  the 
children  shall  be  his  because  he  has  to  find  the  money  to 
support  them.  The  power  of  divorcing  a  woman  for 
adultery  is  this  guarantee,  a  guarantee  that  she  does  not 
need  to  protect  her  against  a  similar  imposture  on  his 
part,  because  he  cannot  bear  children.  No  doubt  he  can 
spend  the  money  that  ought  to  be  spent  on  her  children 
on  another  woman  and  her  children ;  but  this  is  desertion, 
which  is  a  separate  matter.  The  fact  for  us  to  seize  is 
that  in  the  eye  of  the  law,  adultery  without  consequences 
is  merely  a  sentimental  grievance,  whereas  the  planting 


Preface  65 

on  one  man  of  another  man's  offspring  is  a  substantial 
one.  And  so,  no  doubt,  it  is ;  but  the  day  has  gone  by  for 
basing  laws  on  the  assumption  that  a  woman  is  less  to 
a  man  than  his  dog,  and  thereby  encouraging  and  accept- 
ing the  standards  of  the  husbands  who  buy  meat  for  their 
bull-pups  and  leave  their  wives  and  children  hungry. 
That  basis  is  the  penalty  we  pay  for  having  borrowed 
our  religion  from  the  East,  instead  of  building  up  a  re- 
ligion of  our  own  out  of  our  western  inspiration  and  west- 
ern sentiment.  The  result  is  that  we  all  believe  that  our 
religion  is  on  its  last  legs,  whereas  the  truth  is  that  it  is 
not  yet  born,  though  the  age  walks  visibly  pregnant  with 
it.  Meanwhile,  as  women  are  dragged  down  by  their  ori- 
ental servitude  to  our  men,  and  as,  further,  women  drag 
down  those  who  degrade  them  quite  as  effectually  as  men 
do,  there  are  moments  when  it  is  difficult  to  see  anything 
in  our  sex  institutions  except  a  police  des  mceurs  keeping 
the  field  for  a  competition  as  to  which  sex  shall  corrupt 
the  other  most. 

Importance  of  Sentimental  Grievances 

Any  tolerable  western  divorce  law  must  put  the  senti- 
mental grievances  first,  and  should  carefully  avoid  sing* 
ling  out  any  ground  of  divorce  in  such  a  way  as  to  cre- 
ate a  convention  that  persons  having  that  ground  are 
bound  in  honor  to  avail  themselves  of  it.  It  is  generally 
admitted  that  people  should  not  be  encouraged  to  petition 
for  a  divorce  in  a  fit  of  petulance.  What  is  not  so  clearly 
seen  is  that  neither  should  they  be  encouraged  to  petition 
in  a  fit  of  jealousy,  which  is  certainly  the  most  detest- 
able and  mischievous  of  all  the  passions  that  enjoy  pub- 
lic credit.  Still  less  should  people  who  are  not  jealous 
be  urged  to  behave  as  if  they  were  jealous,  and  to  enter 
upon  duels  and  divorce  suits  in  which  they  have  no  de- 
sire to  be  successful.     There  should  be  no  publication  of 


66  Getting  Married 

the  grounds  on  which  a  divorce  is  sought  or  granted ;  and 
as  this  would  abolish  the  only  means  the  public  now  has 
of  ascertaining  that  every  possible  effort  has  been  made 
to  keep  the  couple  united  against  their  wills,  such  pri- 
vacy will  only  be  tolerated  when  we  at  last  admit  that 
the  sole  and  sufficient  reason  why  people  should  be 
granted  a  divorce  is  that  they  want  one.  Then  there  will 
be  no  more  reports  of  divorce  cases,  no  more  letters  read 
in  court  with  an  indelicacy  that  makes  every  sensitive 
person  shudder  and  recoil  as  from  a  profanation,  no  more 
washing  of  household  linen,  dirty  or  clean,  in  public. 
We  must  learn  in  these  matters  to  mind  our  own  business 
and  not  impose  our  individual  notions  of  propriety  on  one 
another,  even  if  it  carries  us  to  the  length  of  openly  ad- 
mitting what  we  are  now  compelled  to  assume  silently, 
that  every  human  being  has  a  right  to  sexual  experience, 
and  that  the  law  is  concerned  only  with  parentage,  which 
is  now  a  separate  matter. 


Divorce  Without  Asking  Why 

The  one  question  that  should  never  be  put  to  a  peti- 
tioner for  divorce  is  "  Why?  "  When  a  man  appeals  to 
a  magistrate  for  protection  from  someone  who  threatens 
to  kill  him,  on  the  simple  ground  that  he  desires  to  live, 
the  magistrate  might  quite  reasonably  ask  him  why  he 
desires  to  live,  and  why  the  person  who  wishes  to  kill  him 
should  not  be  gratified.  Also  whether  he  can  prove  that 
his  life  is  a  pleasure  to  himself  or  a  benefit  to  anyone 
else,  and  whether  it  is  good  for  him  to  be  encouraged  to 
exaggerate  the  importance  of  his  short  span  in  this  vale 
of  tears  rather  than  to  keep  himself  constantly  ready  to 
meet  his  God. 

The  only  reason  for  not  raising  these  very  weighty 
points  is  that  we  find  society  unworkable  except  on  the 


Preface  67 

assumption  that  every  man  has  a  natural  right  to  live. 
Nothing  short  of  his  own  refusal  to  respect  that  right  in 
others  can  reconcile  the  community  to  killing  him.  From 
this  fundamental  right  many  others  are  derived.  The 
American  Constitution,  one  of  the  few  modern  political 
documents  drawn  up  by  men  who  were  forced  by  the 
sternest  circumstances  to  think  out  what  they  really  had 
to  face  instead  of  chopping  logic  in  a  university  class- 
room, specifies  "  liberty  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness  " 
as  natural  rights.  The  terms  are  too  vague  to  be  of  much 
practical  use;  for  the  supreme  right  to  life,  extended  as 
it  now  must  be  to  the  life  of  the  race,  and  to  the  quality 
of  life  as  well  as  to  the  mere  fact  of  breathing,  is  making 
short  work  of  many  ancient  liberties,  and  exposing  the 
pursuit  of  happiness  as  perhaps  the  most  miserable  of 
human  occupations.  Nevertheless,  the  American  Con- 
stitution roughly  expresses  the  conditions  to  which  mod- 
ern democracy  commits  us.  To  impose  marriage  on  two 
unmarried  people  who  do  not  desire  to  marry  one  an- 
other would  be  admittedly  an  act  of  enslavement.  But 
it  is  no  worse  than  to  impose  a  continuation  of  marriage 
on  people  who  have  ceased  to  desire  to  be  married.  It 
will  be  said  that  the  parties  may  not  agree  on  that;  that 
one  may  desire  to  maintain  the  marriage  the  other  wishes 
to  dissolve.  But  the  same  hardship  arises  whenever  a 
man  in  love  proposes  marriage  to  a  woman  and  is  re- 
fused. The  refusal  is  so  painful  to  him  that  he  often 
threatens  to  kill  himself  and  sometimes  even  does  it. 
Yet  we  expect  him  to  face  his  ill  luck,  and  never  dream 
of  forcing  the  woman  to  accept  him.  His  case  is  the 
same  as  that  of  the  husband  whose  wife  tells  him  she  no 
longer  cares  for  him,  and  desires  the  marriage  to  be 
dissolved.  You  will  say,  perhaps,  if  you  are  supersti- 
tious, that  it  is  not  the  same — that  marriage  makes  a 
difference.  You  are  wrong:  there  is  no  magic  in  mar- 
riage.    If  there  were,  married  couples  would  never  de- 


68  Getting  Married 

sire  to  separate.     But  they  do.     And  when  they  do,  it 
is  simple  slavery  to  compel  them  to  remain  together. 

Economic  Slavery  Again  the  Root 

Difficulty 

The  husband,  then,  is  to  be  allowed  to  discard  his  wife 
when  he  is  tired  of  her,  and  the  wife  the  husband  when 
another  man  strikes  her  fancy?  One  must  reply  unhesi- 
tatingly in  the  affirmative;  for  if  we  are  to  deny  every 
proposition  that  can  be  stated  in  offensive  terms  by  its 
opponents,  we  shall  never  be  able  to  affirm  anything  at 
all.  But  the  question  reminds  us  that  until  the  economic 
independence  of  women  is  achieved,  we  shall  have  to  re- 
main impaled  on  the  other  horn  of  the  dilemma  and 
maintain  marriage  as  a  slavery.  And  here  let  me  ask  the 
Government  of  the  day  (1910)  a  question  with  regard 
to  the  Labor  Exchanges  it  has  very  wisely  established 
throughout  the  country.  What  do  these  Exchanges  do 
when  a  woman  enters  and  states  that  her  occupation  is 
that  of  a  wife  and  mother;  that  she  is  out  of  a  job;  and 
that  she  wants  an  employer?  If  the  Exchanges  refuse 
to  entertain  her  application,  they  are  clearly  excluding 
nearly  the  whole  female  sex  from  the  benefit  of  the  Act. 
If  not,  they  must  become  matrimonial  agencies,  unless, 
indeed,  they  are  prepared  to  become  something  worse  by 
putting  the  woman  down  as  a  housekeeper  and  introduc- 
ing her  to  an  employer  without  making  marriage  a  con- 
dition of  the  hiring. 

Labor  Exchanges  and  the  White  Slavery 

Suppose,  again,  a  woman  presents  herself  at  the  Labor 
Exchange,  and  states  her  trade  as  that  of  a  White  Slave, 
meaning  the  unmentionable  trade  pursued  by  many 
thousands   of   women   in  all  civilized  cities.      Will  the 


Preface  69 

Labor  Exchange  find  employers  for  her?  If  not,  what 
will  it  do  with  her?  If  it  throws  her  back  destitute  and 
unhelped  on  the  streets  to  starve,  it  might  as  well  not 
exist  as  far  as  she  is  concerned;  and  the  problem  of  un- 
employment remains  unsolved  at  its  most  painful  point. 
Yet  if  it  finds  honest  employment  for  her  and  for  all  the 
unemployed  wives  and  mothers,  it  must  find  new  places 
in  the  world  for  women ;  and  in  so  doing  it  must  achieve 
for  them  economic  independence  of  men.  And  when 
this  is  done,  can  we  feel  sure  that  any  woman  will  con- 
sent to  be  a  wife  and  mother  (not  to  mention  the  less  re- 
spectable alternative)  unless  her  position  is  made  as  eli- 
gible as  that  of  the  women  for  whom  the  Labor  Ex- 
changes are  finding  independent-  work  ?  Will  not  many 
women  now  engaged  in  domestic  work  under  circum- 
stances which  make  it  repugnant  to  them,  abandon  it  and 
seek  employment  under  other  circumstances  ?  As  unhap- 
piness  in  marriage  is  almost  the  only  discomfort  suffi- 
ciently irksome  to  induce  a  woman  to  break  up  her  home, 
and  economic  dependence  the  only  compulsion  sufficiently 
stringent  to  force  her  to  endure  such  unhappiness,  the 
solution  of  the  problem  of  finding  independent  employ- 
ment for  women  may  cause  a  great  number  of  childless 
unhappy  marriages  to  break  up  spontaneously,  whether 
the  marriage  laws  are  altered  or  not.  And  here  we  must 
extend  the  term  childless  marriages  to  cover  households 
in  which  the  children  have  grown  up  and  gone  their  own 
way,  leaving  the  parents  alone  together:  a  point  at 
which  many  worthy  couples  discover  for  the  first  time 
that  they  have  long  since  lost  interest  in  one  another, 
and  have  been  united  only  by  a  common  interest  in  their 
children.  We  may  expect,  then,  that  marriages  which 
are  maintained  by  economic  pressure  alone  will  dissolve 
when  that  pressure  is  removed ;  and  as  all  the  parties  to 
them  will  certainly  not  accept  a  celibate  life,  the  law 
must  sanction  the  dissolution  in  order  to  prevent  a  recur- 


70  Getting  Married 

rence  of  the  scandal  which  has  moved  the  Government 
to  appoint  the  Commission  now  sitting  to  investigate  the 
marriage  question :  the  scandal,  that  is,  of  a  great  number 
of  persons,  condemned  to  celibacy  by  magisterial  sepa- 
ration orders,  and,  of  course,  refusing  to  submit  to  the 
condemnation,  forming  illicit  connections  to  an  extent 
which  threatens  to  familiarize  the  working  classes  with 
an  open  disuse  of  marriage.  In  short,  once  set  women 
free  from  their  economic  slavery,  and  you  will  find  that 
unless  divorce  is  made  as  easy  as  the  dissolution  of  a 
business  partnership,  the  practice  of  dispensing  with 
marriage  will  presently  become  so  common  that  conven- 
tional couples  will  be  ashamed  to  get  married. 

Divorce  Favorable  to  Marriage 

Divorce,  in  fact,  is  not  the  destruction  of  marriage, 
but  the  first  condition  of  its  maintenance.  A  thousand 
indissoluble  marriages  mean  a  thousand  marriages  and 
no  more.  A  thousand  divorces  may  mean  two  thousand 
marriages;  for  the  couples  may  marry  again.  Divorce 
only  re-assorts  the  couples:  a  very  desirable  thing  when 
they  are  ill-assorted.  Also,  it  makes  people  much  more 
willing  to  marry,  especially  prudent  people  and  proud 
people  with  a  high  sense  of  self-respect.  Further,  the 
fact  that  a  divorce  is  possible  often  prevents  its  being 
petitioned  for,  not  only  because  it  puts  married  couples 
on  their  good  behavior  towards  one  another,  but  because, 
as  no  room  feels  like  a  prison  if  the  door  is  left  open,  the 
removal  of  the  sense  of  bondage  would  at  once  make  mar- 
riage much  happier  than  it  is  now.  Also,  if  the  door 
were  always  open,  there  would  be  no  need  to  rush 
through  it  as  there  is  now  when  it  opens  for  one  moment 
in  a  lifetime,  and  may  never  open  again. 

From  this  point  of  view  England  has  the  worst  civil 
marriage  law  in  the  world,  with  the  exception  of  silly 


Preface  71 

South  Carolina.  In  every  other  reasonably  civilized 
country  the  grounds  on  which  divorce  can  be  granted  ad- 
mit of  so  wide  an  interpretation  that  all  unhappy  mar- 
riages can  be  dissolved  without  resorting  to  the  shameful 
shifts  imposed  by  our  law.  Yet  the  figures  just  given 
to  the  Royal  Commission  shew  that  in  the  State  of  Wash- 
ington, where  there  are  eleven  different  grounds  of  di- 
vorce, and  where,  in  fact,  divorce  can  be  had  for  the 
asking  at  a  negligible  cost,  the  divorce  rate  is  only  184 
per  100,000  of  the  population,  which,  if  we  assume  that 
the  100,000  people  represent  20,000  families,  means  less 
than  one  per  cent  of  domestic  failures.  In  Japan  the 
rate  is  215,  which  is  said  to  be  the  highest  on  record. 
This  is  not  very  alarming:  what  is  quite  hideous  is  that 
the  rate  in  England  is  only  2,  a  figure  which,  if  we  as- 
sume that  human  nature  is  much  the  same  in  Walworth 
as  in  Washington,  must  represent  a  frightful  quantity 
of  useless  unhappiness  and  clandestine  polygamy.  I  am 
not  forgetting  my  own  demonstration  that  the  rate  is 
kept  down  in  Washington  by  the  economic  slavery  of 
women;  but  I  must  point  out  that  this  is  at  its  worst  in 
the  middle  classes  only,  because  a  woman  of  the  working 
class  can  turn  to  and  support  herself,  however  poorly; 
and  a  woman  of  the  upper  classes  usually  has  some  prop- 
erty. And  in  all  classes  we  may  guess  that  the  object 
of  many  divorces  is  not  the  resumption  of  a  single  life, 
but  a  change  of  partners.  As  this  change  can  be  effected 
easily  under  the  existing  law  in  the  State  of  Washington 
it  is  not  certain  that  the  economic  emancipation  of  women 
would  alter  the  rate  there  to  any  startling  extent.  What 
is  certain  is  that  it  could  not  conceivably  raise  it  to  a 
figure  at  which  even  the  most  panicky  alarmist  could 
persuade  sensible  people  that  the  whole  social  fabric  was 
tumbling  to  pieces.  When  journalists  and  bishops  and 
American  Presidents  and  other  simple  people  describe 
this  Washington  result  as  alarming,  they  are  speaking 


72  Getting  Manied 

as  a  peasant  speaks  of  a  motor  car  or  an  aeroplane  when 
he  sees  one  for  the  first  time.  All  he  me  ms  is  that  he 
is  not  used  to  it  and  therefore  fears  that  it  may  injure 
him.  Every  advance  in  civilization  frightens  these  hon- 
est folk.  This  is  a  pity;  but  it  we  were  to  spare  their 
feelings  we  should  never  improve  the  world  at  all.  To 
let  them  frighten  us,  and  then  pretend  that  their  stupid 
timidity  is  virtue  and  purity  and  so  forth,  is  simply 
moral  cowardice. 

Male  Economic  Slavery  and  The  Rights  of 

Bachelors 

It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  the  refusal  to  accept  the 
indignities,  risks,  hardships,  softships,  and  divided  du- 
ties of  marriage  is  not  confined  to  our  voluntary  old 
maids.  There  are  men  of  the  mould  of  Beethoven  and 
Samuel  Butler,  whom  one  can  hardly  conceive  as  mar- 
ried men.  There  are  the  great  ecclesiastics,  who  will 
not  own  two  loyalties:  one  to  the  Church  and  one  to  the 
hearth.  There  are  men  like  Goethe,  who  marry  late 
and  reluctantly  solely  because  they  feel  that  they  can- 
not in  honest  friendship  refuse  the  status  of  marriage 
to  any  woman  of  whose  attachment  to  them  they  have 
taken  any  compromizing  advantage,  either  in  fact  or  in 
appearance.  No  sensible  man  can,  under  existing  cir- 
cumstances, advise  a  woman  to  keep  house  with  a  man 
without  insisting  on  his  marrying  her,  unless  she  is  in- 
dependent of  conventional  society  (a  state  of  things 
which  can  occur  only  very  exceptionally) ;  and  a  man 
of  honor  cannot  advise  a  woman  to  do  for  his  sake  what 
he  would  not  advise  her  to  do  for  anyone  else's.  The 
result  is  that  our  Beethovens  and  Butlers — of  whom,  in 
their  ordinary  human  aspect,  there  are  a  good  many — 
become  barren  old  bachelors,  and  rather  savage  ones  at 
that 


Preface  73' 

Another  difficulty  which  we  always  think  of  in  connec- 
tion with  women,  but  which  is  by  no  means  without  its 
application  to  men,  is  the  economic  one.     The  number  of 
men  who  cannot  afford  to  marry  is  large  enough  to  pro- 
duce very  serious  social  results ;  and  the  higher  the  work 
the  man  is  doing,  the  more  likely  he  is  to  find  himself 
in  this  class  until  he  has  reached  or  passed  middle  age. 
The    higher    departments    of    science,    law,    philosophy, 
poetry,  and  the  fine  arts  are  notoriously  starved  in  youth 
and  early  manhood:  the  marriageable  age  there,  econom- 
ically speaking,  is  nearer   fifty  than  twenty.      Even  in 
business  the  leading  spirits  seldom  reach  a  position  of 
security  until  they  are  far  beyond  the  age  at  which  cel- 
ibacy is  tolerable.     Account  must  also  be  taken  of  the 
younger  sons  of  the   propertied  classes,  brought  up   in 
households  in  which  the  rate  of  expenditure,  though  ten 
times  that  possible  on  a  younger  son's  portion,  yet  rep- 
resents the  only  habit  of  life  he  has  learnt. 

Taking  all  these  cases  as  representing  a  bachelor  class, 
and  bearing  in  mind  that  though  a  man  who  marries  at 
forty  is  not  called  a  bachelor,  yet  he  has  for  twenty  years 
of  his  adult  life  been  one,  and  therefore  produced  all  the 
social  problems  that  arise  out  of  the  existence  of  unmar- 
ried men,  we  must  not  shrink  from  asking  whether  all 
these  gentlemen  are  celibates,  even  though  we  know  that 
the  question  must  be  answered  very  emphatically  in  the 
negative.  Some  of  them  marry  women  of  property, 
thereby  reproducing  the  economic  dependence  of  women 
on  men  with  the  sexes  reversed.  But  there  are  so  few 
women  of  property  available  for  this  purpose  in  com- 
parison with  the  number  of  bachelors  who  cannot  afford 
to  marry,  that  this  resource  does  not  solve  the  problem 
of  the  bachelor  who  cannot  afford  a  wife.  If  there  were 
no  other  resources  available,  bachelors  would  make  love 
to  the  wives  and  daughters  of  their  friends.  This  being 
morally  inadmissible,  a  demand  arises  for  a  cheap  tern- 


74  Getting  Married 

porary  substitute  for  marriage.  A  class  of  women  must 
be  found  to  protect  the  wives  and  the  daughters  of  the 
married  by  keeping  company  with  the  bachelors  for  hire 
for  as  long  or  as  short  a  time  as  the  bachelor  can  afford, 
on  the  understanding  that  no  claim  is  to  be  made  on  him 
after  the  hiring  is  ended.  And  such  an  institution,  as 
we  know,  exists  among  us.  It  is  commonly  spoken  of 
and  thought  of  as  an  offence  against  our  marriage  moral- 
ity; but  all  the  experts  who  write  scientific  treatises  on 
marriage  seem  to  be  agreed  that  it  is,  on  the  contrary,  a 
necessary  part  of  that  morality,  and  must  stand  and  fall 
with  it. 

I  do  not  myself  think  that  this  view  will  bear  exam- 
ination. In  my  play,  Mrs  Warren's  Profession,  I  have 
shewn  that  the  institution  in  question  is  an  economic 
phenomenon,  produced  by  our  underpayment  and  ill- 
treatment  of  women  who  try  to  earn  an  honest  living.  I 
am  aware  that  for  some  reason  scientific  writers  are  per- 
versely impatient  of  this  vfew,  and,  to  discredit  it,  quote 
police  lists  of  the  reasons  given  by  the  victims  for  adopt- 
ing their  trade,  and  insist  on  the  fact  that  poverty  is  not 
often  alleged.  But  this  means  only  that  the  actual  word 
is  seldom  used.  If  a  prisonful  of  thieves  were  asked 
what  induced  them  to  take  to  thieving,  and  some  replied 
Poverty,  and  others  Hunger,  and  others  Desire  for  Ex- 
citement, no  one  would  deny  that  the  three  answers  were 
really  one  answer — that  poverty  means  hunger,  an  in- 
tolerable lack  of  variety  and  pleasure,  and,  in  short,  all 
sorts  of  privations.  When  a  girl,  similarly  interro- 
gated, says  she  wanted  fine  clothes,  or  more  fun,  or  the 
like,  she  is  really  saying  that  she  lacked  what  no  woman 
with  plenty  of  money  need  lack.  The  fact  that,  accord- 
ing to  the  testimony  of  men  who  profess  experience  in 
such  matters,  you  may  search  Europe  in  vain  for  a 
woman  in  this  trade  who  has  the  table  manners  of  a  lady, 
shews  that  prostitution  is  not  a  vocation  but  a  slavery 


Preface  75 

to  which  women  are  driven  by  the  miseries  of  honest 
poverty.  When  every  young  woman  has  an  honorable 
and  comfortable  livelihood  open  to  her  on  reasonable 
terms,  the  streets  will  make  no  more  recruits.  When 
every  young  man  can  afford  to  marry,  and  marriage  re- 
form makes  it  easy  to  dissolve  unions  contracted  by 
young  and  inexperienced  people  in  the  event  of  their 
turning  out  badly,  or  of  one  of  the  pair  achieving  a  po- 
sition neither  comfortable  nor  suitable  for  the  other,  both 
prostitution  and  bachelordom  will  die  a  natural  death. 
Until  then,  all  talk  of  "purification"  is  idle.  It  is  for 
that  reason,  and  also  because  they  have  been  so  fully 
dealt  with  by  Havelock  Ellis  and  numerous  foreign  writ- 
ers on  the  psychology  and  physiology  of  sex,  that  I  lay 
little  stress  on  prostitution  here. 

The  Pathology  of  Marriage 

I  shall  also  say  as  little  as  possible  of  the  pathology 
of  marriage  and  its  kerbstone  breakwater.  Only,  as 
there  seems  to  be  no  bottom  to  the  abyss  of  public  ig- 
norance on  the  subject,  I  am  compelled  to  warn  my  read- 
ers that  marriage  has  a  pathology  and  even  a  criminol- 
ogy. But  they  are  both  so  frightful  that  they  have  been 
dealt  with  not  only  in  such  treatises  as  those  of  Havelock, 
Ellis,  Fournier,  Duclaux,  and  many  German  writers,  but 
in  such  comparatively  popular  works  as  The  Heavenly 
Twins  by  Sarah  Grand,  and  several  of  the  plays  of 
Brieux:  notably  Les  Avaries,  Les  Trois  Filles  de  M. 
Dupont,  and  Maternite.  I  purposely  pass  them  by 
quickly,  not  only  because  attention  has  already  been 
called  to  them  by  these  devoted  writers,  but  because  my 
mission  is  not  to  deal  with  obvious  horrors,  but  to  open 
the  eyes  of  normal  respectable  men  to  evils  which  are 
escaping  their  consideration. 

As  to  the  evils   of   disease   and   contagion,  our  con- 


76  Getting  Married 

sciences  are  sound  enough:  what  is  wrong  with  us  is  ig- 
norance of  the  facts.  No  doubt  this  is  a  very  formidable 
ignorance  in  a  country  where  the  first  cry  of  the  soul  is 
"  Dont  tell  me:  I  dont  want  to  know,"  and  where  frantic 
denials  and  furious  suppressions  indicate  everywhere  the 
cowardice  and  want  of  faith  which  conceives  life  as 
something  too  terrible  to  be  faced.  In  this  particular 
case  **  I  dont  want  to  know  "  takes  a  righteous  air,  and 
becomes  "  I  dont  want  to  know  anything  about  the  dis- 
eases which  are  the  just  punishment  of  wretches  who 
should  not  be  mentioned  in  my  presence  or  in  any  book 
that  is  intended  for  family  reading."  Wicked  and  fool- 
ish as  the  spirit  of  this  attitude  is,  the  practice  of  it  is 
so  easy  and  lazy  and  uppish  that  it  is  very  common. 
But  its  cry  is  drowned  by  a  louder  and  more  sincere  one. 
We  who  do  not  want  to  know  also  do  not  want  to  go 
blind,  to  go  mad,  to  be  disfigured,  to  be  barren,  to  be- 
come pestiferous,  or  to  see  such  things  happening  to  our 
children.  We  learn,  at  last,  that  the  majority  of  the 
victims  are  not  the  people  of  whom  we  so  glibly  say 
"  Serve  them  right,"  but  quite  innocent  children  and  in- 
nocent parents,  smitten  by  a  contagion  which,  no  matter 
in  what  vice  it  may  or  may  not  have  originated,  con- 
taminates the  innocent  and  the  guilty  alike  once  it  is 
launched  exactly  as  any  other  contagious  disease  does; 
that  indeed  it  often  hits  the  innocent  and  misses  the 
guilty  because  the  guilty  know  the  danger  and  take 
elaborate  precautions  against  it,  whilst  the  innocent,  who 
have  been  either  carefully  kept  from  any  knowledge  of 
their  danger,  or  erroneously  led  to  believe  that  contagion 
is  possible  through  misconduct  only,  run  into  danger 
blindfold.  Once  knock  this  fact  into  people's  minds, 
and  their  self-righteous  indifference  and  intolerance  soon 
change  into  lively  concern  for  themselves  and  their  fam- 
ilies. 


Preface  77 

The  Criminology  of  Marriage 

The  pathology  of  marriage  involves  the  possibility  of 
the  most  horrible  crime  imaginable:  that  of  the  person 
who,  when  suffering  from  contagious  disease,  forces  the 
contagion  on  another  person  by  an  act  of  violence.     Such 
an  act  occurring  between  unmarried  people  would,  within 
the  memory  of  persons  now  living,  have  exposed  the  &g- 
gressor  to  the  penalty  of  death;  and  it  is  still  punished 
unmercifully   by   an    extreme   term    of   penal   servitude 
when  it  occurs,  as  it  sometimes  does,  through  the  hideous 
countryside  superstition  that  it  effects  a  cure  when  the 
victim  is  a  virgin.     Marriage  makes  this  outrage  abso- 
lutely legal.     You  may  with  impunity  do  to  the  person 
to  whom  you  are  married  what  you  may  not  do  to  the 
most  despised  outcast  of  the  streets.     And  this  is  only 
the  extreme  instance  of  the  outlawry  which  our  marriage 
laws  effect.     In  our  anxiety  to  provide  for  ourselves  a 
little  private  Alsatia  in  which  we  can  indulge  ourselves 
as  we  please  without  reproach  or  interference  from  law, 
religion,  or  even  conscience   (and  this  is  what  marriage 
has  come  to  mean  to  many  of  us),  we  have  forgotten  that 
we   cannot   escape   restraints   without    foregoing   rights; 
that  all  the  laws  that  are  needed  to  compel  strangers  to 
respect  us  are  equally  if  not  more  necessary  to  compel 
our  husbands  and  wives  to  respect  us;  and  that  society 
without  law,  whether  between  two  or  two  million  per- 
sons, means  tyranny  and  slavery. 

If  the  incorrigible  sentimentalists  here  raise  their  little 
pipe  of  "  Not  if  they  love  one  another,"  I  tell  them,  with 
such  patience  as  is  possible,  that  if  they  had  ever  had 
five  minutes  experience  of  love  they  would  know  that  love 
is  itself  a  tyranny  requiring  special  safeguards;  that 
people  will  perpetrate  "  for  the  sake  of  "  those  they  love, 
exactions  and  submissions  that  they  would  never  dream 
of  proposing  to  or  suffering  from  those  they  dislike  or 


78  Getting  Married 

regard  with  indifference;  that  healthy  marriages  are 
partnerships  of  companionable  and  affectionate  friend- 
ship; that  cases  of  chronic  life-long  love,  whether  senti- 
mental or  sensual,  ought  to  be  sent  to  the  doctor  if  not 
to  the  executioner;  and  that  honorable  men  and  women, 
when  their  circumstances  permit  it,  are  so  far  from 
desiring  to  be  placed  helplessly  at  one  another's  mercy 
that  they  employ  every  device  the  law  now  admits  of, 
from  the  most  stringent  marriage  settlements  to  the  em- 
ployment of  separate  legal  advisers,  to  neutralize  the 
Alsatian  evils  of  the  marriage  law. 

Does  it  Matter? 

A  less  obviously  silly  evasion,  and  one  which  has  a 
greater  air  of  common  sense,  is  "  After  all,  seeing  that 
most  couples  get  on  very  well  together,  does  it  matter 
so  much?"  The  same  reply  might  be  made  by  a  lazy 
magistrate  when  asked  for  a  warrant  to  arrest  a  burglar, 
or  by  a  sleepy  fireman  wakened  by  a  midnight  call  for 
his  fire-escape.  "  After  all,  very  few  people  have  their 
houses  broken  into;  and  fewer  still  have  them  burnt. 
Does  it  matter?"  But  tell  the  magistrate  or  fireman 
that  it  is  his  house  that  has  been  broken  into,  or  his  house 
that  has  been  burnt,  and  you  will  be  startled  by  the 
change  in  his  attitude.  Because  a  mass  of  people  have 
shaken  down  into  comfort  enough  to  satisfy  them,  or 
at  least  to  cause  them  no  more  discomfort  than  they  are 
prepared  to  put  up  with  for  the  sake  of  a  quiet  life,  less 
lucky  and  more  sensitive  and  conscientious  people  should 
not  be  condemned  to  expose  themselves  to  intolerable 
wrongs.  Besides,  people  ought  not  to  be  content  with 
the  marriage  law  as  it  is  merely  because  it  is  not  often 
unbearably  uncomfortable.  Slaves  are  very  often  much 
more  comfortable  both  in  body  and  mind  than  fully  re- 
sponsible free  men.     That  does  not  excuse  anybody  for 


Preface  7ft 

embracing  slavery.  It  is  no  doubt  a  great  pity,  from 
many  points  of  view,  that  we  were  not  conquered  by 
Napoleon,  or  even  by  Bismarck  and  Moltke.  None  the 
less  we  should  have  been  rightly  despised  if  we  had  not 
been  prepared  to  fight  them  for  the  right  to  misgovern 
ourselves. 

But,  as  I  have  said,  I  am  content,  in  this  matter  of 
the  evils  of  our  marriage  law,  to  take  care  of  the  pence 
and  let  the  pounds  take  care  of  themselves.  The  crimes 
and  diseases  of  marriage  will  force  themselves  on  public 
attention  by  their  own  virulence.  I  mention  them  here 
only  because  they  reveal  certain  habits  of  thought  and 
feeling  with  regard  to  marriage  of  which  we  must  rid 
ourselves  if  we  are  to  act  sensibly  when  we  take  the  nec- 
essary reforms  in  hand. 

Christian  Marriage 

First  among  these  is  the  habit  of  allowing  ourselves 
to  be  bound  not  only  by  the  truths  of  the  Christian  re- 
ligion but  by  the  excesses  and  extravagances  which  the 
Christian  movement  acquired  in  its  earlier  days  as  a  vio- 
lent reaction  against  what  it  still  calls  paganism.  By  far 
the  most  dangerous  of  these,  because  it  is  a  blasphemy 
against  life,  and,  to  put  it  in  Christian  terms,  an  accusa- 
tion of  indecency  against  God,  is  the  notion  that  sex, 
with  all  its  operations,  is  in  itself  absolutely  an  obscene 
thing,  and  that  an  immaculate  conception  is  a  miracle. 
So  unwholesome  an  absurdity  could  only  have  gained 
ground  under  two  conditions:  one,  a  reaction  against  a 
society  in  which  sensual  luxury  had  been  carried  to  re- 
volting extremes,  and,  two,  a  belief  that  the  world  was 
coming  to  an  end,  and  that  therefore  sex  was  no  longer 
a  necessity.  Christianity,  because  it  began  under  these 
conditions,  made  sexlessness  and  Communism  the  two 
main   practical   articles   of   its   propaganda;   and   it  has 


80  Getting  Married 

never  quite  lost  its  original  bias  in  these  directions.  In 
spite  of  the  putting  off  of  the  Second  Coming  from  the 
lifetime  of  the  apostles  to  the  millennium,  and  of  the 
great  disappointment  of  the  year  1000  a.d.,  in  which 
multitudes  of  Christians  seriously  prepared  for  the  end 
of  the  world,  the  prophet  who  announces  that  the  end  is 
at  hand  is  still  popular.  Many  of  the  people  who  ridi- 
cule his  demonstrations  that  the  fantastic  monsters  of 
the  book  of  Revelation  are  among  us  in  the  persons  of 
our  own  political  contemporaries,  and  who  proceed  sanely 
in  all  their  affairs  on  the  assumption  that  the  world  is 
going  to  last,  really  do  believe  that  there  will  be  a  Judg- 
ment Day,  and  that  it  might  even  be  in  their  own  time. 
A  thunderstorm,  an  eclipse,  or  any  very  unusual  weather 
will   make  them   apprehensive   and   uncomfortable. 

This  explains  why,  for  a  long  time,  the  Christian 
Church  refused  to  have  anything  to  do  with  marriage. 
The  result  was,  not  the  abolition  of  sex,  but  its  excom- 
munication. And,  of  course,  the  consequences  of  per- 
suading people  that  matrimony  was  an  unholy  state  were 
so  grossly  carnal,  that  the  Church  had  to  execute  a  com- 
plete right-about-face,  and  try  to  make  people  under- 
stand that  it  was  a  holy  state :  so  holy  indeed  that  it  could 
not  be  validly  inaugurated  without  the  blessing  of  the 
Church.  And  by  this  teaching  it  did  something  to  atone 
for  its  earlier  blasphemy.  But  the  mischief  of  chopping 
and  changing  your  doctrine  to  meet  this  or  that  practical 
emergency  instead  of  keeping  it  adjusted  to  the  whole 
scheme  of  life,  is  that  you  end  by  having  half-a-dozen 
contradictory  doctrines  to  suit  half-a-dozen  different 
emergencies.  The  Church  solemnized  and  sanctified 
marriage  without  ever  giving  up  its  original  Pauline  doc- 
trine on  the  subject.  And  it  soon  fell  into  another  con- 
fusion. At  the  point  at  which  it  took  up  marriage  and 
endeavored  to  make  it  holy,  marriage  was,  as  it  still  is, 
largely  a  survival  of  the  custom  of  selling  women  to  men. 


Preface  81 

Now  in  all  trades  a  marked  difference  is  made  in  price 
between  a  new  article  and  a  second-hand  one.  The 
moment  we  meet  with  this  difference  in  value  betwen  hu- 
man beings,  we  may  know  that  we  are  in  the  slave- 
market,  where  the  conception  of  our  relations  to  the  per- 
sons sold  is  neither  religious  nor  natural  nor  human  nor 
superhuman,  but  simply  commercial.  The  Church,  when 
it  finally  gave  its  blessing  to  marriage,  did  not,  in  its 
innocence,  fathom  these  commercial  traditions.  Conse- 
quently it  tried  to  sanctify  them  too,  with  grotesque  re- 
sults. The  slave-dealer  having  always  asked  more 
money  for  virginity,  the  Church,  instead  of  detecting  the 
money-changer  and  driving  him  out  of  the  temple,  took 
him  for  a  sentimental  and  chivalrous  lover,  and,  helped 
by  its  only  half-discarded  doctrine  of  celibacy,  gave  vir- 
ginity a  heavenly  value  to  ennoble  its  commercial  pre- 
tensions. In  short,  Mammon,  always  mighty,  put  the 
Church  in  his  pocket,  where  he  keeps  it  to  this  day,  in 
spite  of  the  occasional  saints  and  martyrs  who  contrive 
from  time  to  time  to  get  their  heads  and  souls  free  to 
testify  against  him. 

Divorce  a  Sacramental  Duty 

But  Mammon  overreached  himself  when  he  tried  to 
impose  his  doctrine  of  inalienable  property  on  the 
Church  under  the  guise  of  indissoluble  marriage.  For 
the  Church  tried  to  shelter  this  inhuman  doctrine  and 
flat  contradiction  of  the  gospel  by  claiming,  and  rightly 
claiming,  that  marriage  is  a  sacrament.  So  it  is;  but 
that  is  exactly  what  makes  divorce  a  duty  when  the  mar- 
riage has  lost  the  inward  and  spiritual  grace  of  which 
the  marriage  ceremony  is  the  outward  and  visible  sign. 
In  vain  do  bishops  stoop  to  pick  up  the  discarded  argu- 
ments of  the  atheists  of  fifty  years  ago  by  pleading  that 
the  words  of  Jesus  were  in  an  obscure  Aramaic  dialect, 


82  Getting  Married 

and  were  probably  misunderstood,  as  Jesus,  they  think, 
could  not  have  said  anything  a  bishop  would  disapprove 
of.  Unless  they  are  prepared  to  add  that  the  statement 
that  those  who  take  the  sacrament  with  their  lips  but  not 
with  their  hearts  eat  and  drink  their  own  damnation  is 
also  a  mistranslation  from  the  Aramaic,  they  are  most 
solemnly  bound  to  shield  marriage  from  profanation,  not 
merely  by  permitting  divorce,  but  by  making  it  compul- 
sory in  certain  cases  as  the  Chinese  do. 

When  the  grest  protest  of  the  XVI  century  came,  and 
the  Church  was  reformed  in  several  countries,  the 
Reformation  was  so  largely  a  rebellion  against  sacer- 
dotalism that  marriage  was  very  nearly  excommunicated 
again:  our  modern  civil  marriage,  round  which  so  many 
fierce  controversies  and  political  conflicts  have  raged, 
would  have  been  thoroughly  approved  of  by  Calvin,  and 
hailed  with  relief  by  Luther.  But  the  instinctive  doc- 
trine that  there  is  something  holy  and  mystic  in  sex,  a 
doctrine  which  many  of  us  now  easily  dissociate  from 
any  priestly  ceremony,  but  which  in  those  days  seemed 
to  all  who  felt  it  to  need  a  ritual  affirmation,  could  not 
be  thrown  on  the  scrap-heap  with  the  sale  of  Indulgences 
and  the  like;  and  so  the  Reformation  left  marriage  where 
it  was:  a  curious  mixture  of  commercial  sex  slavery, 
early  Christian  sex  abhorrence,  and  later  Christian  sex 
sanctification. 

Othello  and  Desdemona 

How  strong  was  the  feeling  that  a  husband  or  a  wife 
is  an  article  of  property,  greatly  depreciated  in  value  at 
second-hand,  and  not  to  be  used  or  touched  by  any  per- 
son but  the  proprietor,  may  be  learnt  from  Shakespear. 
His  most  infatuated  and  passionate  lovers  are  Antony 
and  Othello ;  yet  both  of  them  betray  the  commercial  and 
proprietary  instinct  the  moment  they  lose  their  tempers. 


Preface  83 

"  I  found  you,"  says  Antony,  reproaching  Cleopatra, 
"  as  a  morsel  cold  upon  dead  Caesar's  trencher."  Othel- 
lo's worst  agony  is  the  thought  of  "  keeping  a  corner  in 
the  thing  he  loves  for  others'  uses."  But  this  is  not  what 
a  man  feels  about  the  thing  he  loves,  but  about  the  thing 
he  owns.  I  never  understood  the  full  significance  of 
Othello's  outburst  until  I  one  day  heard  a  lady,  in  the 
course  of  a  private  discussion  as  to  the  feasibility  of 
"  group  marriage,"  say  with  cold  disgust  that  she  would 
as  soon  think  of  lending  her  toothbrush  to  another 
woman  as  her  husband.  The  sense  of  outraged  manhood 
with  which  I  felt  mvself  and  all  other  husbands  thus  re- 
duced  to  the  rank  of  a  toilet  appliance  gave  me  a  very 
unpleasant  taste  of  what  Desdemona  might  have  felt  had 
she  overheard  Othello's  outburst.  I  was  so  dumfounded 
that  I  had  not  the  presence  of  mind  to  ask  the  lady 
whether  she  insisted  on  having  a  doctor,  a  nurse,  a  den- 
tist, and  even  a  priest  and  solicitor  all  to  herself  as  well. 
But  I  had  too  often  heard  men  speak  of  women  as  if 
they  were  mere  personal  conveniences  to  feel  surprised 
that  exactly  the  same  view  is  held,  only  more  fastidiously, 
by  women. 

All  these  views  must  be  got  rid  of  before  we  can  have 
any  healthy  public  opinion  (on  which  depends  our  hav- 
ing a  healthy  population)  on  the  subject  of  sex,  and  con- 
sequently of  marriage.  Whilst  the  subject  is  considered 
shameful  and  sinful  we  shall  have  no  systematic  instruc- 
tion in  sexual  hygiene,  because  such  lectures  as  are  given 
in  Germany,  France,  and  even  prudish  America  (where 
the  great  Miltonic  tradition  in  this  matter  still  lives) 
will  be  considered  a  corruption  of  that  youthful  inno- 
cence which  now  subsists  on  nasty  stories  and  whispered 
traditions  handed  down  from  generation  to  generation  of 
school-children:  stories  and  traditions  which  conceal 
nothing  of  sex  but  its  dignity,  its  honor,  its  sacredness, 
its  rank  as  the  first  necessity  of  society  and  the  deepest 


84  Getting  Married 

concern  of  the  nation.  We  shall  continue  to  maintain 
the  White  Slave  Trade  and  protect  its  exploiters  by,  on 
the  one  hand,  tolerating  the  white  slave  as  the  necessary 
breakwater  of  marriage;  and,  on  the  other,  trampling  on 
her  and  degrading  her  until  she  has  nothing  to  hope 
from  our  Courts ;  and  so,  with  policemen  at  every  corner, 
and  law  triumphant  all  over  Europe,  she  will  still  be 
smuggled  and  cattle-driven  fcom  one  end  of  the  civilized 
world  to  the  other,  cheated,  beaten,  bullied,  and  hunted 
into  the  streets  to  disgusting  overwork,  without  daring  to 
utter  the  cry  for  help  that  brings,  not  rescue,  but  expo- 
sure and  infamy,  yet  revenging  herself  terribly  in  the 
end  by  scattering  blindness  and  sterility,  pain  and  dis- 
figurement, insanity  and  death  among  us  with  the  cer- 
tainty that  we  are  much  too  pious  and  genteel  to  allow 
such  things  to  be  mentioned  with  a  view  to  saving  either 
her  or  ourselves  from  them.  And  all  the  time  we  shall 
keep  enthusiastically  investing  her  trade  with  every  al- 
lurement that  the  art  of  the  novelist,  the  playwright,  the 
dancer,  the  milliner,  the  painter,  the  limelight  man,  and 
the  sentimental  poet  can  devize,  after  which  we  shall  con- 
tinue to  be  very  much  shocked  and  surprised  when  the 
cry  of  the  youth,  of  the  young  wife,  of  the  mother,  of 
the  kifected  nurse,  and  of  all  the  other  victims,  direct 
and  indirect,  arises  with  its  invariable  refrain:  "Why 
did  nobody  warn  me?  " 

What  is  to  become  of  the  Children? 

I  must  not  reply  flippantly,  Make  them  all  Wards  in 
Chancery;  yet  that  would  be  enough  to  put  any  sensible 
person  on  the  track  of  the  reply.  One  would  think,  to 
hear  the  way  in  which  people  sometimes  ask  the  question, 
that  not  only  does  marriage  prevent  the  difficulty  from 
ever  arising,  but  that  nothing  except  divorce  can  ever 
raise  it.     It  is  true  that  if  you  divorce  the  parents,  the 


Preface  85 

children  have  to  be  disposed  of.     But  if  you  hang  the 
parents,  or  imprison  the  parents,  or  take  the  children  out 
of  the  custody  of  the  parents  because  they  hold  Shelley's 
opinions,  or  if  the  parents  die,  the  same  difficulty  arises. 
And  as  these  things  have  happened  again  and  again,  and 
as  we  have  had  plenty  of  experience  of  divorce  decrees 
and  separation  orders,  the  attempt  to  use  children  as  an 
obstacle  to  divorce  is  hardly  worth  arguing  with.     We 
shall  deal  with  the  children  just  as  we  should  deal  with 
them  if  their  homes  were  broken  up  by  any  other  cause. 
There  is  a  sense  in  which  children  are  a  real  obstacle  to 
divorce:    they    give    parents    a   common    interest   which 
keeps  together  many  a  couple  who,  if  childless,  would 
separate.     The  marriage  law  is  superfluous  in  such  cases. 
This  is  shewn  by  the  fact  that  the  proportion  of  childless 
divorces  is  much  larger  than  the  proportion  of  divorces 
from  all  causes.     But  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  the 
interest  of  the  children  forms  one  of  the  most  powerful 
arguments  for  divorce.     An  unhappy  household  is  a  bad 
nursery.     There  is  something  to  be  said  for  the  polygy- 
nous  or  polyandrous  household  as  a  school  for  children: 
children  really  do  suffer  from  having  too  few  parents: 
this  is  why  uncles  and  aunts  and  tutors  and  governesses 
are  often  so  good  for  children.     But  it  is  just  the  po- 
lygamous  household  which  our  marriage  law  allows  to 
be  broken  up,  and  which,  as  we  have  seen,  is  not  possi- 
ble as  a  typical  institution  in  a  democratic  country  where 
the  numbers  of  the  sexes  are   about  equal.     Therefore 
polygyny  and  polyandry  as  a  means  of  educating  children 
fall  to  the  ground,  and  with  them,  I  think,  must  go  the 
opinion  which  has  been  expressed  by  Gladstone  and  oth- 
ers, that  an  extension  of  divorce,  whilst  admitting  many 
new  grounds  for  it,  might  exclude  the  ground  of  adultery. 
There  are,  however,  clearly  many  things  that  make  some 
of  our  domestic  interiors  little  private  hells  for  children 
(especially  when  the  children  are  quite  content  in  them) 


86  Getting  Married 

w^iich  would  justify  any  intelligent  State  in  breaking  up 
the  home  and  giving  the  custody  of  the  children  either 
to  the  parent  whose  conscience  had  revolted  against  the 
corruption  of  the  children,  or  to  neither. 

Which  brings  me  to  the  point  that  divorce  should  no 
longer  be  confined  to  cases  in  which  one  of  the  parties 
petitions  for  it.  If,  for  instance,  you  have  a  thoroughly 
rascally  couple  making  a  living  by  infamous  means  and 
bringing  up  their  children  to  their  trade,  the  king's 
proctor,  instead  of  pursuing  his  present  purely  mischiev- 
ous function  of  preventing  couples  from  being  divorced 
by  proving  that  they  both  desire  it,  might  very  well  in- 
tervene and  divorce  these  children  from  their  parents. 
At  present,  if  the  Queen  herself  were  to  rescue  some  un- 
fortunate child  from  degradation  and  misery  and  place 
her  in  a  respectable  home,  and  some  unmentionable  pair 
of  blackguards  claimed  the  child  and  proved  that  they 
were  its  father  and  mother,  the  child  would  be  given  to 
them  in  the  name  of  the  sanctity  of  the  home  and  the 
holiness  of  parentage,  after  perpetrating  which  crime, 
the  law  would  calmly  send  an  education  officer  to  take 
the  child  out  of  the  parents'  hands  several  hours  a  day 
in  the  still  more  sacred  name  of  compulsory  education. 
(Of  course  what  would  really  happen  would  be  that  the 
couple  would  blackmail  the  Queen  for  their  consent  to 
the  salvation  of  the  child,  unless,  indeed,  a  hint  from  a 
police  inspector  convinced  them  that  bad  characters  can- 
not always  rely  on  pedantically  constitutional  treat- 
ment when  they  come  into  conflict  with  persons  in  high 
station). 

The  truth  is,  not  only  must  the  bond  between  man  and 
wife  be  made  subject  to  a  reasonable  consideration  of 
the  welfare  of  the  parties  concerned  and  of  the  commun- 
ity, but  the  whole  family  bond  as  well.  The  theory  that 
the  wife  is  the  property  of  the  husband  or  the  husband 
of  the  wife  is  not  a  whit  less  abhorrent  and  mischievous 


Preface  87 

than  the  theory  that  the  child  is  the  property  of  the  par 
ent.  Parental  bondage  will  go  the  way  of  conjugal 
bondage:  indeed  the  order  of  reform  should  rather  be 
put  the  other  way  about ;  for  the  helplessness  of  children 
has  already  compelled  the  State  to  intervene  between 
parent  and  child  more  than  between  husband  and  wife. 
If  you  pay  less  than  .£40  a  year  rent,  you  will  sometimes 
feel  tempted  to  say  to  the  vaccination  officer,  the  school 
attendance  officer,  and  the  sanitary  inspector:  "  Is  this 
child  mine  or  yours  ?  "  The  answer  is  that  as  the  child 
is  a  vital  part  of  the  nation,  the  nation  cannot  afford  to 
leave  it  at  the  irresponsible  disposal  of  any  individual  or 
couple  of  individuals  as  a  mere  small  parcel  of  private 
property.  The  only  solid  ground  that  the  parent  can 
take  is  that  as  the  State,  in  spite  of  its  imposing  name, 
can,  when  all  is  said,  do  nothing  with  the  child  except 
place  it  in  the  charge  of  some  human  being  or  another, 
the  parent  is  no  worse  a  custodian  than  a  stranger.  And 
though  this  proposition  may  seem  highly  questionable  at 
first  sight  to  those  who  imagine  that  only  parents  spoil 
children,  yet  those  who  realize  that  children  are  as  often 
spoilt  by  severity  and  coldness  as  by  indulgence,  and 
that  the  notion  that  natural  parents  are  any  worse  than 
adopted  parents  is  probably  as  complete  an  illusion  as 
the  notion  that  they  are  any  better,  see  no  serious  likeli- 
hood that  State  action  will  detach  children  from  their 
parents  more  than  it  does  at  present:  nay,  it  is  even 
likely  that  the  present  system  of  taking  the  children  out 
of  the  parents'  hands  and  having  the  parental  duty  per- 
formed by  officials,  will,  as  poverty  and  ignorance  be- 
come the  exception  instead  of  the  rule,  give  way  to  the 
system  of  simply  requiring  certain  results,  beginning 
with  the  baby's  weight  and  ending  perhaps  with  some 
sort  of  practical  arts  degree,  but  leaving  parents  and 
children  to  achieve  the  results  as  they  best  may.  Such 
freedom  is,  of  course,  impossible  in  our  present  poverty- 


88  Getting  Married 

stricken  circumstances.  As  long  as  the  masses  of  oor 
people  are  too  poor  to  be  good  parents  or  good  anything 
else  except  beasts  of  burden,  it  is  no  use  requiring  much 
more  from  them  but  hewing  of  wood  and  drawing  of 
water:  whatever  is  to  be  done  must  be  done  for  them, 
mostly,  alas !  by  people  whose  superiority  is  merely  tech- 
nical. Until  we  abolish  poverty  it  is  impossible  to  push 
rational  measures  of  any  kind  very  far:  the  wolf  at  the 
door  will  compel  us  to  live  in  a  state  of  siege  and  to  do 
everything  by  a  bureaucratic  martial  law  that  would  be 
quite  unnecessary  and  indeed  intolerable  in  a  prosperous 
community.  But  however  we  settle  the  question,  we 
must  make  the  parent  justify  his  custody  of  the  child 
exactly  as  we  should  make  a  stranger  justify  it.  If  a 
family  is  not  achieving  the  purposes  of  a  family  it  should 
be  dissolved  just  as  a  marriage  should  when  it,  too,  is 
not  achieving  the  purposes  of  marriage.  The  notion 
that  there  is  or  ever  can  be  anything  magical  and  inviol- 
able in  the  legal  relations  of  domesticity,  and  the  curious 
confusion  of  ideas  which  makes  some  of  our  bishops  im- 
agine that  in  the  phrase  "  Whom  God  hath  joined,"  the 
word  God  means  the  district  registrar  or  the  Reverend 
John  Smith  or  William  Jones,  must  be  got  rid  of.  Means 
of  breaking  up  undesirable  families  are  as  necessary  to 
the  preservation  of  the  family  as  means  of  dissolving  un- 
desirable marriages  are  to  the  preservation  of  marriage. 
If  our  domestic  laws  are  kept  so  inhuman  that  they  at 
last  provoke  a  furious  general  insurrection  against  them 
as  they  already  provoke  many  private  ones,  we  shall  in 
a  very  literal  sense  empty  the  baby  out  with  the  bath  by 
abolishing  an  institution  which  needs  nothing  more  than 
a  little  obvious  and  easy  rationalizing  to  make  it  not  only 
harmless  but  comfortable,  honorable,  and  useful. 


Preface  89 

The  Cost  of  Divorce 

But  please  do  not  imagine  that  the  evils  of  indissolu- 
ble marriage  can  be  cured  by  divorce  laws  administered 
on  our  present  plan.  The  very  cheapest  undefended  di- 
vorce, even  when  conducted  by  a  solicitor  for  its  own 
sake  and  that  of  humanity,  costs  at  least  ,£30  out-of- 
pocket  expenses.  To  a  client  on  business  terms  it  costs 
about  three  times  as  much.  Until  divorce  is  as  cheap  as 
marriage,  marriage  will  remain  indissoluble  for  all  ex- 
cept the  handful  of  people  to  whom  £100  is  a  procurable 
sum.  For  the  enormous  majority  of  us  there  is  no  differ- 
ence in  this  respect  between  a  hundred  and  a  quadrillion. 
Divorce  is  the  one  thing  you  may  not  sue  for  in  forma 
pauperis. 

Let  me,  then,  recommend  as  follows: 

1.  Make  divorce  as  easy,  as  cheap,  and  as  private 
as  marriage. 

2.  Grant  divorce  at  the  request  of  either  party, 
whether  the  other  consents  or  not;  and  admit  no  other 
ground  than  the  request,  which  should  be  made  without 
stating  any  reasons. 

3.  Confine  the  power  of  dissolving  marriage  for  mis- 
conduct to  the  State  acting  on  the  petition  of  the  king's 
proctor  or  other  suitable  functionary,  who  may,  however, 
be  moved  by  either  party  to  intervene  in  ordinary  request 
cases,  not  to  prevent  the  divorce  taking  place,  but  to  en- 
force alimony  if  it  be  refused  and  the  case  is  one  which 
needs  it. 

4.  Make  it  impossible  for  marriage  to  be  used  as  a 
punishment  as  it  is  at  present.  Send  the  husband  and 
wife  to  penal  servitude  if  you  disapprove  of  their  con- 
duct and  want  to  punish  them ;  but  do  not  send  them  back 
to  perpetual  wedlock. 

5.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  you  think  a  couple  perfectly 
innocent  and  well  conducted,  do  not  condemn  them  also 


90  Getting  Married 

to  perpetual  wedlock  against  their  wills,  thereby  making 
the  treatment  of  what  you  consider  innocence  on  both 
sides  the  same  as  the  treatment  of  what  you  consider 
guilt  on  both  sides. 

6.  Place  the  work  of  a  wife  and  mother  on  the  same 
footing  as  other  work:  that  is,  on  the  footing  of  labor 
worthy  of  its  hire;  and  provide  for  unemployment  in  it 
exactly  as  for  unemployment  in  shipbuilding  or  any 
other  recognized  bread-winning  trade. 

7.  And  take  and  deal  with  all  the  consequences  of 
these  acts  of  justice  instead  of  letting  yourself  be  fright- 
ened out  of  reason  and  good  sense  by  fear  of  conse- 
quences. We  must  finally  adapt  our  institutions  to  hu- 
man nature.  In  the  long  run  our  present  plan  of  trying 
to  force  human  nature  into  a  mould  of  existing  abuses, 
superstitions,  and  corrupt  interests,  produces  the  explo- 
sive forces  that  wreck  civilization. 

8.  Never  forget  that  if  you  leave  your  law  to  judges 
and  your  religion  to  bishops,  you  will  presently  find 
yourself  without  either  law  or  religion.  If  you  doubt 
this,  ask  any  decent  judge  or  bishop.  Do  not  ask  some- 
body who  does  not  know  what  a  judge  is,  or  what  a 
bishop  is,  or  what  the  law  is,  or  what  religion  is.  In 
other  words,  do  not  ask  your  newspaper.  Journalists  are 
too  poorly  paid  in  this  country  to  know  anything  that  is 
fit  for  publication. 

Conclusions 

To  sum  up,  we  have  to  depend  on  the  solution  of  the 
problem  of  unemployment,  probably  on  the  principles 
laid  down  in  the  Minority  Report  of  the  Royal  Commis- 
sion on  the  Poor  Law,  to  make  the  sexual  relations  be- 
tween men  and  women  decent  and  honorable  by  making 
women  economically  independent  of  men,  and  (in  the 
younger  son  section  of  the  upper  classes)  men  economi- 


Preface  91 

cally  independent  of  women.  We  also  have  to  bring  our- 
selves into  line  with  the  rest  of  Protestant  civilization  by 
providing  means  for  dissolving  all  unhappy,  improper, 
and  inconvenient  marriages.  And,  as  it  is  our  cautious 
custom  to  lag  behind  the  rest  of  the  world  to  see  how 
their  experiments  in  reform  turn  out  before  venturing 
ourselves,  and  then  take  advantage  of  their  experience 
to  get  ahead  of  them,  we  should  recognize  that  the  an- 
cient system  of  specifying  grounds  for  divorce,  such  as 
adultery,  cruelty,  drunkenness,  felony,  insanity,  va- 
grancy, neglect  to  provide  for  wife  and  children,  deser- 
tion, public  defamation,  violent  temper,  religious  hetero- 
doxy, contagious  disease,  outrages,  indignities,  personal 
abuse,  "  mental  anguish,"  conduct  rendering  life  burden- 
some and  so  forth  (all  these  are  examples  from  some 
code  actually  in  force  at  present),  is  a  mistake,  because 
the  only  effect  of  compelling  people  to  plead  and  prove 
misconduct  is  that  cases  are  manufactured  and  clean  linen 
purposely  smirched  and  washed  in  public,  to  the  great 
distress  and  disgrace  of  innocent  children  and  relatives, 
whilst  the  grounds  have  at  the  same  time  to  be  made  so 
general  that  any  sort  of  human  conduct  may  be  brought 
within  them  by  a  little  special  pleading  and  a  little  men- 
tal reservation  on  the  part  of  witnesses  examined  on  oath. 
When  it  comes  to  "  conduct  rendering  life  burdensome," 
it  is  clear  that  no  marriage  is  any  longer  indissoluble; 
and  the  sensible  thing  to  do  then  is  to  grant  divorce 
whenever  it  is  desired,  without  asking  why. 


GETTING  MARRIED 

» 

On  a  fine  morning  in  the  spring  of  1908  the  Norman 
kitchen  in  the  Palace  of  the  Bishop  of  Chelsea  looks 
very  spacious  and  clean  and  handsome  and  healthy. 

The  Bishop  is  lucky  enough  to  have  a  XII  century 
palace.  The  palace  itself  has  been  lucky  enough  to  es- 
cape being  carved  up  into  XV  century  Gothic,  or  shaved 
into  XVIII  century  ashlar,  or  "  restored  "  by  a  XIX 
century  builder  and  a  Victorian  architect  with  a  deep 
sense  of  the  umbrella-like  gentlemanliness  of  XIV  cen- 
tury vaulting.  The  present  occupant,  A.  Chelsea,  un- 
officially Alfred  Bridgenorth,  appreciates  Norman  work. 
He  has,  by  adroit  complaints  of  the  discomfort  of  the 
place,  induced  the  Ecclesiastical  Commissioners  to  give 
him  some  money  to  spend  on  it;  and  with  this  he  has  got 
rid  of  the  wall  papers,  the  paint,  the  partitions,  the  ex- 
quisitely planed  and  moulded  casings  with  which  the 
Victorian  cabinetmakers  enclosed  and  hid  the  huge  black 
beams  of  hewn  oak,  and  of  all  other  expedients  of  his 
predecessors  to  make  themselves  feel  at  home  and  re- 
spectable in  a  Norman  fortress.  It  is  a  house  built  to 
last  for  ever.  The  walls  and  beams  are  big  enough  to 
carry  the  tower  of  Babel,  as  if  the  builders,  anticipating 
our  modern  ideas  and  instinctively  defying  them,  had  re- 
solved to  shew  how  much  material  they  could  lavish  on 
a  house  built  for  the  glory  of  God,  instead  of  keeping  a 


94  Getting  Married 

competitive  eye  on  the  advantage  of  sending  in  the  lowest 
tender,  and  scientifically  calculating  how  little  material 
would  be  enough  to  prevent  the  whole  affair  from  tum- 
bling down  by  its  own  weight. 

The  kitchen  is  the  Bishop's  favorite  room.     This  is  not 
at  all  because  he  is  a  man  of  humble  mind;  but  because 
the  kitchen  is  one  of  the  finest  rooms  in  the  house.     The 
Bishop  has  neither  the  income  nor  the  appetite  to  have 
his  cooking  done  there.     The  windows,  high  up  in  the 
wall,  look  north  and  south.     The  north  window  is  the 
largest;  and  if  we  look  into  the  kitchen  through  it  we  see 
facing  us  the  south  wall  with  small  Norman  windows 
and  an  open  door  near  the  corner  to  the  left.     Through 
this  door  we  have  a  glimpse  of  the  garden,  and  of  a  gar- 
den chair  in  the  sunshine.    In  the  right-hand  corner  is  an 
entrance  to  a  vaulted  circular  chamber  with  a  winding 
stair  leading  up  through  a  tower  to  the  upper  floors  of 
the  palace.    In  the  wall  to  our  right  is  the  immense  fire- 
place, with  its  huge  spit  like  a  baby  crane,  and  a  collec- 
tion of  old  iron  and  brass  instruments  which  pass  as  the 
original  furniture  of  the  fire,  though  as  a  matter  of  fact 
they   have  been  picked  up  from  time   to   time   by   the 
Bishop  at  secondhand  shops.    In  the  near  end  of  the  left- 
hand  wall  a  small  Norman  door  gives  access  to  the  Bish- 
op's study,  formerly  a  scullery.     Further  along,  a  great 
oak  chest  stands  against  the  wall.     Across  the  middle  of 
the  kitchen  is  a  big  timber  table  surrounded  by  eleven 
stout  rush-bottomed  chairs:  four  on  the  far  side,  three 
on  the  near  side,  and  two  at  each  end.     There  is  a  big 
chair  with  railed  back  and  sides  on  the  hearth.     On  the 
floor  is  a  drugget  of  thick  fibre  matting.     The  only  other 
piece  of  furniture  is  a  clock  with  a  wooden  dial  about  as 
large  as  the  bottom  of  a  washtub,  the  weights,  chains, 
and  pendulum   being  of  corresponding  magnitude;  but 
the  Bishop  has  long  since  abandoned  the  attempt  to  keep 
it  going.     It  hangs  above  the  oak  chest. 


Getting  Married  95 

The  kitchen  is  occupied  at  present  by  the  jffifcpp'* 
lady*  Mrs  Bridgenorth,  who  is  talking  to  Mr^Wjlimik. 
CollinsTtte  green-grocer.  He  is  in  evening  dress,  though 
it  ts  early  forenoon.  Mrs  Bridgenorth  is  a  quiet  happy- 
looking  woman  of  fifty  or  thereabouts,  placid,  gentle,  and 
humorous,  with  delicate  features  and  fine  grey  hair  with 
many  white  threads.  She  is  dressed  as  for  some  festiv- 
ity;  but  she  is  taking  things  easily  as  she  sits  in  the  big 
chair  by  the  hearth,  reading  The  Times. 

Collins  is  an  elderly  man  with  a  rather  youthful  waist. 
His  muttonchop  whiskers  have  a  coquettish .  touch  of 
Dundreary  at  their  lower  ends.  He  is_an  affable  man,' 
with  those  perfect  manners  which  can  be  acquired  only 
in  keeping  a  shop  for  the  sale  of  necessaries  of  life  to 
ladies  whose  social  position  is  so  unquestionable  that  they 
Jre  not  anxious  about  it.  He  is  a  reassuring  man,  with 
a  vigilant  grey  eye,  and  the  power  of  saying  anything  he 
likes  to  you  without  offence,  because  his  tone  always  im- 
plies that  h$  does  it  with  your  kind  permission.  Withal 
by  no  means  servile:  rather  gallant  and  compassionate, 
but  never  without  a  conscientious  recognition,  on  public 
grounds,  of  social  distinctions.  He  is  at  the  oak  chest 
counting  a  pile  of  napkins. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth  reads  placidly:  Collins  counts:  a 
blackbird  sings  in  the  garden.  Mrs  Bridgenorth  puts 
The  Times  down  in  her  lap  and  considers  Collins  for  a 
moment. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Do  you  never  feel  nervous  on 
these  occasions,  Collins?    • 

Collins.  Lord  bless  you,  no,  maam.  It  would  be 
a  joke,  after  marrying  five  of  your  daughters,  if  I  was 
to  get  nervous  over  marrying  the  last  of  them. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  I  have  always  said  you  were  a 
wonderful  man,  Collins. 

Collins   [almost  blushing]     Oh,  maam! 


) 


96  Getting  Married 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Yes.  I  never  could  arrange 
anything — a  wedding  or  even  a  dinner — without  some 
hitch  or  other. 

Collins.  Why  should  you  give  yourself  the  trouble, 
maam?  Send  for  the  greengrocer,  maam:  thats  the  secret 
of  easy  housekeeping.  Bless  you,  it's  his  business.  It 
pays  him  and  you,  let  alone  the  pleasure  in  a  house  like 
this  [Mrs  Bridgenorth  bows  in  acknowledgment  of  the 
compliment].  They  joke  about  the  greengrocer,  just  as 
they  joke  about  the  mother-in-law.     But  they  cant  get 

on  without  both.         ' " — ~~, — 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  What  a  bond  between  us,  Collins ! 
Collins.  Bless  you,  maam,  theres  all  sorts  of  bonds 
between  all  sorts  of  people.  You  are  a  very  affable  lady, 
maam,  for  a  Bishop's  lady.  I  have  known  Bishop's  la- 
dies that  would  fairly  provoke  you  to  up  and  cheek  them'; 
but  nobody  would  ever  forget  himself  and  his  place  with 
you,  maam. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Collins :  you  are  *  a  flatterer. 
You  will  superintend  the  breakfast  yourself  as  usual,  of 
course,  wont  you? 

Collins.     Yes,  yes,  bless  you,  maam,  of  course.     I 
'  always  do.     Them  fashionable  caterers  send  down  such 
[•  people  as  I  never  did  set  eyes  on.    Dukes  you  would  take 
)them   for.      You   see  the   relatives   shaking  hands   with 
[  them  and  asking  them  about  the  family — actually  ladies 
saying  "Where  have  we  met  before?"  and  all  sorts  of 
Confusion.      Thats   my  secret  in  business,  maam.     You 
/'can  always  spot  me  as  the  greengrocer.     It's  a  fortune 
( to  me  in  these  days,  when  you  cant  hardly  tell  who  any- 
v  one  is  or  isnt.     [He  goes  out  through  the  tower,  and  im- 
mediately returns  for  a  moment  to  announce]     The  Gen- 
eral, maam. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth  rises  to  receive  her  brother-in-law, 
who  enters  resplendent  in  full-dress  uniform,  with  many 
medals  and  orders.    General  Bridgenorth  is  a  well  set  up 


Getting  Married  97 

man  of  fifty,  with  large  brave  nostrils,  an  iron  mouth, 
faithful  dog's  eyes,  and  much  natural  simplicity  and  dig- 
nity of  character.  He  is  ignorant,  stupid,  and  preju- 
diced, having  been  carefully  trained  to  be  so;  and  it  is 
not  always  possible  to  be  patient  with  him  when  his 
unquestionably  good  intentions  become  actively  mischiev- 
ous; but  one  blames  society,  not  himself,  for  this.  He 
would  be  no  worse  a  man  than  Collins,  had  he  enjoyed 
Collins's  social  opportunities.  He  comes  to  the  hearth, 
where  Mrs  Bridgenorth  is  standing  with  her  bach  to  the 
fireplace. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Good  morning,  Boxer.  [They 
shake  hands].  Another  niece  to  give  away.  This  is  the 
last  of  them. 

The  General  [very  gloomy]  Yes,  Alice.  Nothing 
for  the  old  warrior  uncle  to  do  but  give  away  brides  to 
luckier  men  than  himself.  Has — [he  chokes]  has  your 
sister  come  yet? 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Why  do  you  always  call  Lesbia 
my  sister  ?  Dont  you  know  that  it  annoys  her  more  than 
any  of  the  rest  of  your  tricks? 

The  General.  Tricks !  Ha !  Well,  I'll  try  to  break 
myself  of  it;  but  I  think  she  might  bear  with  me  in  a 
little  thing  like  that.  She  knows  that  her  name  sticks 
in  my  throat.  Better  call  her  your  sister  than  try  to  call 
her  L —  [he  almost  breaks  down]  L —  well,  call  her  by 
her  name  and  make  a  fool  of  myself  by  crying.  [He 
sits  down  at  the  near  end  of  the  table], 

Mrs  Bridgenorth  [going  to  him  and  rallying  him] 
Oh  come,  Boxer!  Really,  really!  We  are  no  longer 
boys  and  girls.  You  cant  keep  up  a  broken  heart  all 
your  life.  It  must  be  nearly  twenty  years  since  she 
refused  you.  And  you  know  that  it's  not  because-} 
she  dislikes  you,  but  only  that  she's  not  a  marrying  { 
woman. 

The  General,     It's  no  use.     I  love  her  still.     And 


1 


98  Getting  Married 

I  cant  help  telling  her  so  whenever  we  meet,  though  I 
know  it  makes  her  avoid  me.     [He  all  but  weeps]. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  What  does  she  say  when  you 
tell  her? 

The  General.  Only  that  she  wonders  when  I  am 
going  to  grow  out  of  it.  I  know  now  that  I  shall  never 
grow  out  of  it. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.     Perhaps  you  would  if  you  mar- 
ried her.     I  believe  youre  better  as  you  are,  Boxer. 
/      The  General.      I'm   a   miserable   man.      I'm   really 
■     sorry  to  be  a  ridiculous  old  bore,  Alice ;  but  when  I  come 
•>    to  this  house  for  a  wedding — to  these  scenes — to — to — 
recollections  of  the  past — always  to   give  the  bride  to 
/    somebody  else,  and  never  to  have  my  bride  given  to  me 
*     — [he  rises  abruptly]      May  I  go  into  the  garden  and 
smoke  it  off? 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.     Do,  Boxer. 

Collins  returns  with  the  wedding  cake. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Oh,  heres  the  cake.  I  believe 
it's  the  same  one  we  had  for  Florence's  wedding. 

The  General.  I  cant  bear  it  [he  hurries  out  through 
the  garden  door], 

Collins  [putting  the  cake  on  the  table]  Well,  look 
at  that,  maam !  Aint  it  odd  that  after  all  the  weddings 
he's  given  away  at,  the  General  cant  stand  the  sight  of  a 
wedding  cake  yet.  It  always  seems  to  give  him  the  same 
shock. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Well,  it's  his  last  shock.  You 
have  married  the  whole  family  now,  Collins.  [She  takes 
up  The  Times  again  and  resumes  her  seat]. 

Collins.  Except  your  sister,  maam.  A  fine  charac- 
ter of  a  lady,  maam,  is  Miss  Grantham.  I  have  an  ambi- 
tion to  arrange  her  wedding  breakfast. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.     She  wont  marry,  Collins. 

Collins.  Bless  you,  maam,  they  all  say  that.  You 
and  me  said  it,  I'll  lay.     I  did,  anyhow. 


Getting  Married  99 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.     No:   marriage  came  natural  to<? 
me.     I  should  have  thought  it  did  to  you  too. 

Collins  [pensive]  No,  maam:  it  didnt  come  natural. 
My  wife  had  to  break  me  into  it.  It  came  natural  to 
her :  she's  what  you  might  call  a  regular  old  hen.  Always 
wants  to  have  her  family  within  sight  of  her.  Wouldnt 
go  to  bed  unless  she  knew  they  was  all  safe  at  home  and 
the  door  locked,  and  the  lights  out.  Always  wants  her 
luggage  in  the  carriage  with  her.  Always  goes  and 
makes  the  engine  driver  promise  her  to  be  careful.  She's 
a  born  wife  and  mother,  maam,  Thats  why  my  children 
all  ran  away  from  home. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Did  you  ever  feel  inclined  to  run 
away,  Collins? 

Collins.  Oh  yes,  maam,  yes :  very  often.  But  when 
it  came  to  the  point  I  couldnt  bear  to  hurt  her  feelings. 
Shes  a  sensitive,  affectionate,  anxious  soul;  and  she  was 
never  brought  up  to  know  what  freedom  is  to  some  peo- 
ple. You  see,  family  life  is  all  the  life  she  knows:  she's 
like  a  bird  born  in  a  cage,  thai  wouI3  die  if  you  let  it 
loose  in  the  woods.  When  I  thought  how  little  it  was 
to  a  man  of  my  easy  temper  to  put  up  with  her,  and  how 
deep  it  would  hurt  her  to  think  it  was  because  I  didnt 
care  for  her,  I  always  put  off  running  away  till  next 
time ;  and  so  in  the  end  I  never  ran  away  at  all.  I  dare- 
say it  was  good  for  me  to  be  took  such  care  of;  but  it 
cut  me  off  from  all  my  old  friends  something  dreadful, 
maam:  especially  the  women,  maam.  She  never  gave 
them  a  chance:  she  didnt  indeed.  She  never  understood 
that  married  people  should  take  holidays  from  one  an- 
other if  they  are  to  keep ^aTalf  fresh.  Not  "that"!  ever 
got  tired  of  her,  maam ;  but  my !  how  I  used  to  get  tired 
of  home  life  sometimes.  I  used  to  catch  myself  envying 
my  brother  George:  I  positively  did,  maam. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  George  was  a  bachelor  then,  I 
suppose? 


X 


100  Getting  Married 

Collins.  Bless  you,  no,  maam.  He  married  a  very 
fine  figure  of  a  woman ;  but  she  was  that  changeable  and 
what  you  might  call  susceptible,  you  would  not  believe. 
She  didnt  seem  to  have  any  control  over  herself  when  she 
fell  in  love.  She  would  mope  for  a  couple  of  days,  cry- 
ing about  nothing;  and  then  she  would  up  and  say — no 
matter  who  was  there  to  hear  her — "  I  must  go  to  him, 
George  " ;  and  away  she  would  go  from  her  home  and 
her  husband  without  with-your-leave  or  by-your-leave. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  But  do  you  mean  that  she  did 
this  more  than  once?     That  she  came  back? 

Collins.  Bless  you,  maam,  she  done  it  five  times  to 
my  own  knowledge;  and  then  George  gave  up  telling  us 
about  it,  he  got  so  used  to  it. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.    But  did  he  always  take  her  back? 

Collins.  Well,  what  could  he  do,  maam?  Three 
times  out  of  four  the  men  would  bring  her  back  the  same 
evening  and  no  harm  done.  Other  times  theyd  run  away 
from  her.  What  could  any  man  with  a  heart  do  but  com- 
fort her  when  she  came  back  crying  at  the  way  they 
dodged  her  when  she  threw  herself  at  their  heads,  pre- 
tending they  was  too  noble  to  accept  the  sacrifice  she 
was  making.  George  told  her  again  and  again  that  if 
she'd  only  stay  at  home  and  hold  off  a  bit  theyd 
be  at  her  feet  all  day  long.  She  got  sensible  at  last 
and  took  his  advice.  George  always  liked  change  of 
company. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  What  an  odious  woman,  Col- 
lins !    Dont  you  think  so  ? 

Collins  [judicially]  Well,  many  ladies  with  a  do- 
mestic turn  thought  so  and  said  so,  maam.  But  I  will 
say  for  Mrs  George  that  the  variety  of  experience  made 
her  wonderful  interesting.  Thats  where  the  flighty  ones 
score  off  the  steady  ones,  maam.  Look  at  my  old 
woman !  She's  never  known  any  man  but  me ;  and  she 
cant  properly  know  me,  because  she  dont  know  other 


Getting  Married  101 

men  to  compare  me  with.  Of  course  she  knows  her  par- 
ents in — well,  in  the  way  one  does  know  one's  parents: 
not  knowing  half  their  lives  as  you  might  say,  or  ever 
thinking  that  they  was  ever  young;  and  she  knew  her 
children  as  children,  and  never  thought  of  them  as  inde- 
pendent human  beings  till  they  ran  away  and  nigh  broke 
her  heart  for  a  week  or  two.  But  Mrs  George  she  came 
to  know  a  lot  about  men  of  alT  sorts  and  ages ;  for  the 
older  she  got  the  younger  she  liked  em;  and  it  certainly 
made  her  interesting,  and  gave  her  a  lot  of  sense.  I  have 
often  taken  her  advice  on  things  when  my  own  poor  old 
woman  wouldnt  have  been  a  bit  of  use  to  me. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  I  hope  you  dont  tell  your  wife 
that  you  go  elsewhere  for  advice. 

Collins.     Lord  bless  you,  maam,  I'm  that  fond  of  my 
old  Matilda  that  I  never  tell  her  anything  at  all  for  fear 
of  hurting  her  feelings.     You  see,  she's  such  an  out-and^ 
out  wife  and  mother  that  she's  hardly  a  responsible  hu-( 
man  being  out  of  her  house,  except  when  she's  marketing./ 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Does  she  approve  of  Mrs 
George  ? 

Collins.  Oh,  Mrs  George  gets  round  her.  Mrs 
George  can  get  round  anybody  if  she  wants  to.  And 
then  Mrs  George  is  very  particular  about  religion.  And 
shes  a  clairvoyant. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth   [surprised]     A  clairvoyant! 

Collins  [caZm]  Oh  yes,  maam,  yes.  All  you  have 
to  do  is  to  mesmerize  her  a  bit;  and  off  she  goes  into  a 
trance,  and  says  the  most  wonderful  things !  not  things 
about  herself,  but  as  if  it  was  the  whole  human  race  giv- 
ing you  a  bit  of  its  mind.  Oh,  wonderful,  maam,  I 
assure  you.  You  couldnt  think  of  a  game  that  Mrs 
George  isnt  up  to. 

Lesbia  Grantham  comes  in  through  the  tower.  She  it 
a  tall,  handsome,  slender  lady  in  her  prime:  that  is,  be- 
tween 36  and  55.    She  has  what  is  called  a  well-bred  air, 


!02  Getting  Married 

dressing  very   carefully   to  produce   that   effect   without 
the  least  regard  for  the  latest  fashions,  sure  of  herself 
very  ternfymg  to  the  young  and  shy,  fastidious  to  the 
ends  of  her  long  finger-tips,  and  tolerant  and  amused 
rather  than  sympathetic. 

Lesbia.     Good  morning,  dear  big  sister. 
\TheS  ^?GENORTH-     Good  corning,  dear  little  sister. 

Lesbia.  Good  morning,  Collins.  How  well  you  are 
looking!  And  how  young!  [She  turns  the  middle  chair 
away  from  the  table  and  sits  down], 

Collins.  Thats  only  my  professional  habit  at  a  wed- 
ding Miss.  You  should  see  me  at  a  political  dinner. 
I  look  nigh  seventy.  [Looking  at  his  watch]  Time's 
getting  along,  maam.  May  I  send  up  word  from  you 
to  Miss  Edith  to  hurry  a  bit  with  her  dressing? 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.     Do,  Collins. 

Collins  goes  out  through  the  tower,  talcing  the  cake 
with  him. 

Lesbia.  Dear  old  Collins!  Has  he  told  you  any 
stories  this  morning? 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Yes.  You  were  just  late  for  a 
particularly  thrilling  invention   of  his. 

Lesbia.     About  Mrs  George? 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Yes.  He  says  she's  a  clair- 
voyant. 

Lesbia.  I  wonder  whether  he  really  invented  Mrs 
George,  or  stole  her  out  of  some  book. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.     I  wonder! 

Lesbia.     Wheres  the  Barmecide? 
^  Mrs  Bridgenorth.     In  the  study,  working  away  at 
his  new  book.      He  thinks  no   more  now  of  having   a 
daughter  married  than  of  having  an  egg  for  breakfast. 

The  General,  soothed  by  smoking,  comes  in  from  the 
garden. 

The  General  [with  resolute  bonhomie]     Ah,  Lesbia! 


Getting  Married  103 

How  do  you  do?     [They  shake  hands;  and  he  takes  the 
chair  on  her  right], 

Mrs  Bridgenorth  goes  out  through  the  tower, 
Lesbia.     How  are  you,  Boxer?     You  look  almost  as 
gorgeous  as  the  wedding  cake. 

The  General.  I  make  a  point  of  appearing  in  uni- 
form whenever  I  take  part  in  any  ceremony,  as  a  lesson 
to  the  subalterns.  It  is  not  the  custom  in  England;  but 
it  ought  to  be. 

Lesbia.  You  look  very  fine,  Boxer.  What  a  frightful 
lot  of  bravery  all  these  medals  must  represent! 

The  General.  No,  Lesbia.  They  represent  despair 
and  cowardice.  I  won  all  the  early  ones  by  trying  to  get 
killed.     You  know  why. 

Lesbia.  But  you  had  a  charmed  life? 
The  General.  Yes,  a  charmed  life.  Bayonets  bent 
on  my  buckles.  Bullets  passed  through  me  and  left  no 
trace:  thats  the  worst  of  modern  bullets:  Ive  never  been 
hit  by  a  dum-dum.  When  I  was  only  a  company  officer 
I  had  at  least  the  right  to  expose  myself  to  death  in  the 
field.  Now  I'm  a  General  even  that  resource  is  cut  off. 
[Persuasively  drawing  his  chair  nearer  to  her]  Listen 
to  me,  Lesbia.     For  the  tenth  and  last  time — 

Lesbia  [interrupting]  On  Florence's  wedding  morn- 
ing, two  years  ago,  you  said  "  For  the  ninth  and  last 
time." 

The  General.  We  are  two  years  older,  Lesbia.  I'm 
fifty:  you  are — 

Lesbia.  Yes,  I  know.  It's  no  use,  Boxer.  When 
will  you  be  old  enough  to  take  no  for  an  answer? 

The  General.  Never,  Lesbia,  never.  You  have 
never  given  me  a  real  reason  for  refusing  me  yet.  I  once 
thought  it  was  somebody  else.  There  were  lots  of  fel- 
lows after  you;  but  now  theyve  all  given  it  up  and  mar- 
ried. [Bending  still  nearer  to  her]  Lesbia:  tell  me 
your  secret.     Why — 


104  Getting  Married 

Lksbia  [sniffing  disgustedly]  Oh!  Youve  been  smok- 
ing. [She  rises  and  goes  to  the  chair  on  the  hearth] 
Keep  away,  you  wretch. 

The  General.  But  for  that  pipe,  I  could  not  have 
faced  you  without  breaking  down.  It  has  soothed  me 
and  nerved  me. 

Lesbia  [sitting  down  with  The  Times  in  her  hand] 
Well,  it  has  nerved  me  to  tell  you  why  I'm  going  to  be 
an  old  maid. 

The  General  [impulsively  approaching  her]  Dont 
say  that,  Lesbia.  It's  not  natural:  it's  not  right: 
it's—  *"  — 

Lesbia  [fanning  him  off]  No:  no  closer,  Boxer, 
please.  [He  retreats,  discouraged].  It  may  not  be  nat- 
ural; but  it  happens  all  the  time.  Youll  find  plenty  of 
women  like  me,  if  you  care  to  look  for  them :  women  with 
lots  of  character  and  good  looks  and  money  and  offers, 
who  wont  and  dont  get  married.     Cant  you  guess  why? 

The  General.  I  can  understand  when  there  is 
another. 
r  Lesbia.  Yes ;  but  there  isnt  another.  Besides,  do  you 
Ssuppose  I  think,  at  my  time  of  life,  that  the  difference 
[between  one  decent  sort  of  man  and  another  is  worth 
V  bothering  about? 

The  General.  The  heart  has  its  preferences,  Lesbia. 
One  image,  and  one  only,  gets  indelibly — 

Lesbia.  Yes.  Excuse  my  interrupting  you  so  often; 
but  your  sentiments  are  so  correct  that  I  always  know 
what  you  are  going  to  say  before  you  finish.  You  see, 
Boxer,  everybody  is  not  like  you.  You  are  a  sentimental 
noodle:  you  dont  see  women  as  they  really  are.  You 
dont  see  me  as  I  really  am.  Now  I  do  see  men  as  they 
really  are.     I  see  you  as  you  really  are. 

The  General  [murmuring]  No:  dont  say  that, 
Lesbia. 

Lesbia.     I'm  a  regular  old  maid.     I'm  very  particular 


Getting  Married  105 

about  my  belongings.  I  like  to  have  my  own  house,  and 
to  have  it  to  myself.  I  have  a  very  keen  sense  of  beauty 
and  fitness  and  cleanliness  and  order.  I  am  proud  of  my 
independence  and  jealous  for  it.  I  have  a  sufficiently 
well-stocked  mind  to  be  very  good  company  for  myself 
if  I  have  plenty  of  books  and  music.  The  one  thing  I 
never  could  stand  is  a  great  lout  of  a  man  smoking  all 
over  my  house  and  going  to  sleep  in  his  chair  after  din- 
ner, and  untidying  everything.     Ugh! 

The  General.     But  love  — 

Lesbia.     Oh,  love !     Have  you  no  imagination  ?     DoA 
you  think  I  have  never  been  in  love  with  wonderful  men?  J 
heroes  !  archangels  !  princes  !  sages  !  even  fascinating  ras-  / 
cals !  and  had  the  strangest  adventures  with  them?     Do  I    <-L 
you  know  what  it  is  to  look  at  a  mere  real  man  after  ^ 
that?  a  man  with  his  boots  in  every  corner,  and  the  smell   J 
of  his  tobacco  in  every  curtain?  \j 

The  General  [somewhat  dazed]  Well  but — excuse 
my  mentioning  it — dont  you  want  children? 

Lesbia.  I  ought  to  have  children.  I  should  be  a 
good  mother  to  children.  I  believe  it  would  pay  the 
country  very  well  to  pay  me  very  well  to  have  children. 
But  the  country  tells  me  that  I  cant  have  a  child  in  my 
house  without  a  man  in  it  too;  so  I  tell  the  country  that 
it  will  have  to  do  without  my  children.  If  I  am  to  be  a 
moth erj'T  'really  cannot  have  a  man  bothering  me  to  be 
a  wife  at  the  same  time. 

The  General.  My  dear  Lesbia:  you  know  I  dont 
wish  to  be  impertinent;  but  these  are  not  the  correct 
views  for  an  English  lady  to  express. 

Lesbia.  That  is  why  I  dont  express  them,  except  to 
gentlemen  who  wont  take  any  other  answer.  The  diffi- 
culty, you  see,  is  that  I  really  am  an  English  lady,  and 
am  particularly  proud  of  being  one. 

The  General.  I'm  sure  of  that,  Lesbia:  quite  sure 
of  it.    I  never  meant — 


106  Getting  Married 

Lesbia  [rising  impatiently]  Oh,  my  dear  Boxer,  do 
please  try  to  think  of  something  else  than  whether  you 
have  offended  me,  and  whether  you  are  doing  the  correct 
thing  as  an  English  gentleman.  You  are  faultless,  and 
very  dull.  [She  shakes  her  shoulders  intolerantly  and 
walks  across  to  the  other  side  of  the  kitchen]. 

The  General  [moodily]  Ha!  thats  whats  the  matter 
with  me.     Not  clever.     A  poor  silly  soldier  man. 

Lesbia.  The  whole  matter  is  very  simple.  As  I  say, 
I  am  an  English  lady,  by  which  I  mean  that  I  have  been 
trained  to  do  without  what  I  cant  have  on  honorable 
terms,  no  matter  what  it  is. 

The  General.     I  really  dont  understand  you,  Lesbia. 

Lesbia  [turning  on  him]  Then  why  on  earth  do  you 
want  to  marry  a  woman  you  dont  understand? 

The  General.     I  dont  know.     I  suppose  I  love  you. 

Lesbia.  Well,  Boxer,  you  can  love  me  as  much  as 
you  like,  provided  you  look  happy  about  it  and  dont  bore 
me.     But  you  cant  marry  me;  and  thats  all  about  it. 

The  General.  It's  so  frightfully  difficult  to  argue 
the  matter  fairly  with  you  without  wounding  your  del- 
icacy by  overstepping  the  bounds  of  good  taste.  But 
surely  there  are  calls  of  nature — 

Lesbia.     Dont  be  ridiculous,  Boxer. 

The  General.  Well,  how  am  I  to  express  it?  Hang 
it  all,  Lesbia,  dont  you  want  a  husband? 
*  Lesbia.  No.  I  want  children;  and  I  want  to  devote 
myself  entirely  to  my  children,  and  not  to  their  father. 
[The  law  will  not  allow  me  to  do  that;  so^3iaTe""Sade- up 
y  mind  to  have  neither  husband  nor  children. 

The  General.  But,  great  Heavens,  the  natural  ap- 
petites— 

Lesbia.  As  I  said  before,  an  English  lady  is  not  the 
slave  of  her  appetites.  That  is  what  an  English  gentle- 
man seems  incapable  of  understanding.  [She  sits  down 
at  the  end  of  the  table,  near  the  study  door] . 


Getting  Married  107 

The  General  [huffily]  Oh  well,  if  you  refuse,  you 
refuse.  I  shall  not  ask  you  again.  I'm  sorry  I  returned 
to  the  subject.  [He  retires  to  the  hearth  and  plant* 
himself  there,  wounded  a.id  lofty], 

Lesbia.     Dont  be  cross,  Boxer. 

The  General.  I'm  not  cross,  only  wounded,  Lesbia. 
And  when  you  talk  like  that,  I  dont  feel  convinced:  I 
only  feel  utterly  at  a  loss. 

Lesbia.  Well,  you  know  our  family  rule.  When  at  a 
loss  consult  the  greengrocer.  [Opportunely  Collins 
comes  in  through  the  tower] .     Here  he  is. 

Collins.  Sorry  to  be  so  much  in  and  out,  Miss.  I 
thought  Mrs  Bridgenorth  was  here.  The  table  is  ready 
now  for  the  breakfast,  if  she  would  like  to  see  it. 

Lesbia.  If  you  are  satisfied,  Collins,  I  am  sure  she 
will  be. 

The  General.  By  the  way,  Collins:  I  thought 
theyd  made  you  an  alderman. 

Collins.     So  they  have,  General. 

The  General.     Then  wheres  your  gown? 

Collins.     I  dont  wear  it  in  private  life,  General. 

The  General.     Why?     Are  you  ashamed  of  it? 

Collins.  No,  General.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  take 
a  pride  in  it.     I  cant  help  it. 

The  General.  Attention,  Collins.  Come  here, 
[Collins  comes  to  him].  Do  you  see  my  uniform — all 
my  medals? 

Collins.  Yes,  General.  They  strike  the  eye,  as  it 
were. 

The  General.  They  are  meant  to.  Very  well. 
Now  you  know,  dont  you,  that  your  services  to  the  com- 
munity as  a  greengrocer  are  as  important  and  as  digni- 
fied as  mine  as  a  soldier? 

Collins.  I'm  sure  it's  very  honorable  of  you  to  say 
so,  General. 

The  General  [emphatically]     You  know  also,  dont 


108  Getting  Married 

you,  that  any  man  who  can  see  anything  ridiculous,  or 
unmanly,  or  unbecoming  in  your  work  or  in  your  civic 
robes  is  not  a  gentleman,  but  a  jumping,  bounding,  snort- 
ing cad? 

Collins.  Well,  strictly  between  ourselves,  that  is  my 
opinion,  General. 

The  General.  Then  why  not  dignify  my  niece's 
wedding  by  wearing  your  robes? 

Collins.  A  bargain's  a  bargain,  General.  Mrs 
Bridgenorth  sent  for  the  greengrocer,  not  for  the  alder- 
man. It's  just  as  unpleasant  to  get  more  than  you  bar- 
gain for  as  to  get  less. 

The  General.  I'm  sure  she  will  agree  with  me.  I 
attach  importance  to  this  as  an  affirmation  of  solidarity 
in  the  service  of  the  community.  The  Bishop's  apron, 
my  uniform,  your  robes:  the  Church,  the  Army,  and  the 
Municipality. 

Collins  [retiring]  Very  well,  General.  [He  turns 
dubiously  to  Lesbia  on  his  way  to  the  tower].  I  wonder 
what  my  wife  will  say,  Miss  ? 

The  General.  What!  Is  your  wife  ashamed  of 
your  robes? 

Collins.  No,  sir,  not  ashamed  of  them.  But  she 
grudged  the  money  for  them;  and  she  will  be  afraid  of 
my  sleeves  getting  into  the  gravy. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth,  her  placidity  quite  upset,  comes  in 
with  a  letter;  hurries  past  Collins;  and  comes  between 
Lesbia  and  the  General. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Lesbia:  Boxer:  heres  a  pretty 
mess! 

Collins  goes  out  discreetly. 

The  General.     Whats  the  matter? 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Reginald's  in  London,  and  wants 
to  come  to  the  wedding. 

The  General  [stupended]     Well,  dash  my  buttons! 

Lesbia.     Oh,  all  right,  let  him  come. 


Getting  Married  109 

The  General.  Let  him  come !  Why,  the  decree  has 
not  been  made  absolute  yet.  Is  he  to  walk  in  here  to 
Edith's  wedding,  reeking  from  the  Divorce  Court? 

Mrs  Bridgenorth  [vexedly  sitting  down  in  the  mid- 
dle chair]  It's  too  bad.  No:  I  cant  forgive  him,  Les- 
bia,  really.  A  man  of  Reginald's  age,  with  a  young  wife 
— the  best  of  girls,  and  as  pretty  as  she  can  be — to  go 
off  with  a  common  woman  from  the  streets  !     Ugh ! 

Lesbia.  You  must  make  allowances.  What  can  you 
expect?  Reginald  was  always  weak.  He  was  brought 
up  to  be  weak.  The  family  property  was  all  mortgaged 
when  he  inherited  it.  He  had  to  struggle  along  in  con- 
stant money  difficulties,  hustled  by  his  solicitors,  morally 
bullied  by  the  Barmecide,  and  physically  bullied  by 
Boxer,  while  they  two  were  fighting  their  own  way  and 
getting  well  trained.  You  know  very  well  he  couldnt 
afford  to  marry  until  the  mortgages  were  cleared  and  he 
was  over  fifty.  And  then  of  course  he  made  a  fool  of 
himself  mai  .ying  a  child  like  Leo. 

The  General.  But  to  hit  her!  Absolutely  to  hit 
her!  He  knocked  her  down — knocked  her  flat  down  on 
a  flowerbed  in  the  presence  of  his  gardener.  He!  the 
head  of  the  family !  the  man  that  stands  before  the 
Barmecide  and  myself  as  Bridgenorth  of  Bridgenorth! 
to  beat  his  wife  and  go  off  with  a  low  woman  and  be 
divorced  for  it  in  the  face  of  all  England!  in  the  face  of 
my  uniform  and  Alfred's  apron !  I  can  never  forget 
what  I  felt:  it  was  only  the  King's  personal  request — 
virtually  a  command — that  stopped  me  from  resigning 
my  commission.  I'd  cut  Reginald  dead  if  I  met  him  in 
the  street. 

Mrs,  Bridgenorth.  Besides,  Leo's  coming.  Theyd 
meet.     It's  impossible,  Lesbia. 

Lesbia.  Oh,  I  forgot  that.  That  settles  it.  He 
mustnt  come. 

The  General.     Of  course  he  mustnt.     You  tell  him 


110  Getting  Married 

that  if  he  enters  this  house,  I'll  leave  it;  and  so  will 
every  decent  man  and  woman  in  it.  • 

Collins  [returning  for  a  moment  to  announce]  Mr 
Reginald,  maam.  [He  withdraws  when  Reginald  en' 
ters]. 

The  General  [beside  himself]  Well,  dash  my  but- 
tons! ! 

Reginald  is  just  the  man  Lesbia  has  described.  He  is 
hardened  and  tough  'physically,  and  hasty  and  boyish  in 
his  manner  and  speech,  belonging  as  he  does  to  the  large 
class  of  English  gentlemen  of  property  (solicitor-man- 
aged) who  have  never  developed  intellectually  since  their 
schooldays.  He  is  a  muddled,  rebellious,  hasty,  untidy, 
forgetful,  always  late  sort  of  man,  who  very  evidently 
needs  the  care  of  a  capable  woman,  and  has  never  been 
lucky  or  attractive  enough  to  get  it.  All  the  same,  a 
likeable  man,  from  whom  nobody  apprehends  any  malice 
nor  expects  any  achievement.  In  everything  but  years 
he  is  younger  than  his  brother  the  General. 

Reginald  [coming  forward  between  the  General  and 
Mrs  Bridgenorth]  Alice:  it's  no  use.  I  cant  stay  away 
from  Edith's  wedding.  Good  morning,  Lesbia.  How  are 
you,  Boxer?     [He  offers  the  General  his  hand]. 

The  General  [with  crushing  stiffness]  I  was  just 
telling  Alice,  sir,  that  if  you  entered  this  house,  I  should 
leave  it. 

Reginald.  Well,  dont  let  me  detain  you,  old  chap. 
When  you  start  calling  people,  Sir,  youre  not  particu- 
larly good  company. 

Lesbia.  Dont  you  begin  to  quarrel.  That  wont 
improve  the  situation. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  I  think  you  might  have  waited 
until  you  got  my  answer,  Rej  jy. 

Reginald.  It's  so  jolly  easy  to  say  No  in  a  letter. 
Wont  you  let  me  stay? 

Mrs   Bridgenorth.     How  can   I?      Leo's   coming. 


Getting  Married  111 

Reginald.     Well,  she  wont  mind. 

The  General.     Wont  mind  !  !  !  !  ! 

Lesbia.  Dont  talk  nonsense,  Rejjy;  and  be  off  with 
you. 

The  General  [with  biting  sarcasm]  At  school  you 
had  a  theory  that  women  liked  being  knocked  down,  I 
remember. 

Reginald.  Youre  a  nice,  chivalrous,  brotherly  sort 
of  swine,  you  are. 

The  General.  Mr  Bridgenorth:  are  you  going  to 
leave  this  house  or  am  I? 

Reginald.  You  are,  I  hope.  [He  emphasizes  his  in- 
tention to  stay  by  sitting  down]. 

The  General.  Alice:  will  you  allow  me  to  be  driven 
from  Edith's  wedding  by  this — 

Lesbia  [warningly]     Boxer! 

The  General.  — by  this  Respondent?  Is  Edith  to 
be  given  away  by  him? 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Certainly  not.  Reginald:  you 
were  not  asked  to  come;  and  I  have  asked  you  to  go. 
You  know  how  fond  I  am  of  Leo;  and  you  know  what 
she  would  feel  if  she  came  in  and  found  you  here. 

Collins  [again  apearing  in  the  tower]  Mrs  Reg- 
inald, maam. 

Lesbia  fNo,  no.    Ask  her  to —     [All  three 

<  Oh  how  unfortunate !     clamoring 
Well,  dash  my  buttons !  together]. 

It  is  too  late:  Leo  is  already  in  the  kitchen.  Collins 
goes  out,  mutely  abandoning  a  situation  which  he  de- 
plores but  has  been  unable  to  save. 

Leo  is  very  pretty,  very  youthful,  very  restless,  and 
consequently  very  charming  to  people  who  are  touched  by 
youth  and  beauty,  as  well  as  to  those  who  regard  young 
women  as  more  or  less  appetizing  lollipops,  and  dont  re- 
gard old  women  at  all.     Coldly  studied,  Leo*s  restless- 


Irs  Bridgenorth 
The  General 


112  Getting  Married 

ness  is  much  less  lovable  than  the  kittenishness  which 
comes  from  a  rich  and  fresh  vitality.  She  is  a  born 
fusser  about  herself  and  everybody  else  for  whom  she 
feels  responsible;  and  her  vanity  causes  her  to  exaggerate 
her  responsibilities  officiously.  All  her  fussing  is  about 
little  things;  but  she  often  calls  them  by  big  names,  such 
as  Art,  the  Divine  Spark,  the  world,  motherhood,  good 
breeding,  the  Universe,  the  Creator,  or  anything  else  that 
happens  to  strike  her  imagination  as  sounding  intellectu- 
ally important.  She  has  more  than  common  imagination 
and  no  more  than  common  conception  and  penetration; 
so  that  she  is  always  on  the  high  horse  about  words  and 
always  in  the  perambulator  about  things.  Considering 
herself  clever,  thoughtful,  and  superior  to  ordinary  weak- 
nesses and  prejudices,  she  recklessly  attaches  herself  to 
clever  men  on  that  understanding,  with  the  result  that 
they  are  first  delighted,  then  exasperated,  and  finally 
bored.  When  marrying  Reginald  she  told  her  friends 
that  there  was  a  great  deal  in  him  which  needed  bringing 
out.  If  she  were  a  middle-aged  man  she  would  be  the 
terror  of  his  club.  Being  a  pretty  young  woman,  she  is 
forgiven  everything,  proving  that  "  Tout  comprendre, 
c'est  tout  pardonner "  is  an  error,  the  fact  being  that 
the  secret  of  forgiving  everything  is  to  understand 
nothing. 

She  runs  in  fussily,  full  of  her  own  importance,  and 
swoops  on  Lesbia,  who  is  much  less  disposed  to  spoil  her 
than  Mrs  Bridgenorth  is.  But  Leo  affects  a  special  in- 
timacy with  Lesbia,  as  of  two  thinkers  among  the  Phil- 
istines. 

Leo  [to  Lesbia,  kissing  her]  Good  morning.  [Com- 
ing to  Mrs  Bridgenorth]  How  do,  Alice?  [Passing  on 
towards  the  hearth]  Why  so  gloomy,  General?  [Reg- 
inald rises  between  her  and  the  General]  Oh,  Rejjy! 
What  will  the  King's  Proctor  say? 

Reginald.     Damn  the  King's  Proctor! 


Getting  Married  113 

Leo.  Naughty.  Well,  I  suppose  I  must  kiss  you; 
but  dont  any  of  you  tell.  [She  kisses  him.  They  can 
hardly  believe  their  eyes].  Have  you  kept  all  your 
promises  ? 

Reginald.     Oh,  dont  begin  bothering  about  those — 

Leo  [insisting]  Have?  You?  Kept?  Your?  Prom- 
ises? Have  you  rubbed  your  head  with  the  lotion  every 
night? 

Reginald.     Yes,  yes.     Nearly  every  night. 

Leo.  Nearly  !  I  know  what  that  means.  Have  you 
worn  your  liver  pad? 

The  General  [solmenly]  Leo:  forgiveness  is  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  traits  in  a  woman's  nature;  but  there 
are  things  that  should  not  be  forgiven  to  a  man.  When  a 
man  knocks  a  woman  down  [Leo  gives  a  little  shriek  of 
laughter  and  collapses  on  a  chair  next  Mrs  Bridgenorth, 
on  her  left]  — 

Reginald  [sardonically]  The  man  that  would  raise 
his  hand  to  a  woman,  save  in  the  way  of  a  kindness,  is 
unworthy  the  name  of  Bridgenorth.  [He  sits  down  at 
the  end  of  the  table  nearest  the  hearth]. 

The  General  [much  huffed]  Oh,  well,  if  Leo  does 
not  mind,  of  course  I  have  no  more  to  say.  But  I  think 
you  might,  out  of  consideration  for  the  family,  beat  your 
wife  in  private  and  not  in  the  presence  of  the  gardener. 

Reginald  [out  of  patience]  Whats  the  good  of  beat- 
ing your  wife  unless  theres  a  witness  to  prove  it  after- 
wards? You  dont  suppose  a  man  beats  his  wife  for  the 
fun  of  it,  do  you?  How  could  she  have  got  her  divorce 
if  I  hadnt  beaten  her?     Nice  state  of  things,  that! 

The  General  [gasping]  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me 
that  you  did  it  in  cold  blood?  simply  to  get  rid  of  your 
wife  ? 

Reginald.  No,  I  didn't:  I  did  it  to  get  her  rid  of 
me.  What  would  you  do  if  you  were  fool  enough  to 
marry  a  woman  thirty  years  younger  than  yourself,  and 


114  Getting  Married 

then  found  that  she  didnt  care  for  you,  and  was  in  love 
with  a  young  fellow  with  a  face  like  a  mushroom. 

Leo.  He  has  not.  [Bursting  into  tears]  And  you 
are  most  unkind  to  say  I  didnt  care  for  you.  Nobody 
could  have  been  fonder  of  you. 

Reginald.  A  nice  way  of  shewing  your  fondness !  I 
had  to  go  out  and  dig  that  flower  bed  all  over  with  my 
own  hands  to  soften  it.  I  had  to  pick  all  the  stones  out 
of  it.  And  then  she  complained  that  I  hadnt  done  it 
properly,  because  she  got  a  worm  down  her  neck.  I  had 
to  go  to  Brighton  with  a  poor  creature  who  took  a  fancy 
to  me  on  the  way  down,  and  got  conscientious  scruples 
about  committing  perjury  after  dinner.  I  had  to  put 
her  down  in  the  hotel  book  as  Mrs  Reginald  Bridge- 
north  :  Leo's  name !  Do  you  know  what  that  feels  like 
to  a  decent  man  ?  Do  you  know  what  a  decent  man  feels 
about  his  wife's  name?  How  would  you  like  to  go  into  a 
hotel  before  all  the  waiters  and  people  with — with  that 
on  your  arm?  Not  that  it  was  the  poor  girl's  fault,  of 
course;  only  she  started  crying  because  I  couldnt  stand 
her  touching  me ;  and  now  she  keeps  writing  to  me.  And 
then  I'm  held  up  in  the  public  court  for  cruelty  and 
adultery,  and  turned  away  from  Edith's  wedding  by 
Alice,  and  lectured  by  you!  a  bachelor,  and  a  precious 
green  one  at  that.     What  do  you  know  about  it? 

The  General.  Am  I  to  understand  that  the  whole 
case  was  one  of  collusion? 

Reginald.  Of  course  it  was.  Half  the  cases  are 
collusions:  what  are  people  to  do?  [The  General,  pass- 
ing his  hand  dazedly  over  his  bewildered  brow,  sinks  into 
the  railed  chair].  And  what  do  you  take  me  for,  that 
you  should  have  the  cheek  to  pretend  to  believe  all  that 
rot  about  my  knocking  Leo  about  and  leaving  her  for — 
for  a — a —    Ugh !  you  should  have  seen  her. 

The  General.  This  is  perfectly  astonishing  to  me. 
Why  did  you  do  it?    Why  did  Leo  allow  it? 


Getting  Married  115 

Reginald.     Youd  better  ask  her. 

Leo  [still  in  tears]  I'm  sure  I  never  thought  it  would 
be  so  horrid  for  Rej  jy.  ~T~offered  honorably  to  do  it  my- 
self, and  let  him  divorce  me;  but  he  wouldnt.  And  he 
said  himself  that  it  was  the  only  way  to  do  it — that  it  | 
was  the  law  that  he  should  do  it  that  way.  I  never  saw 
that  hateful  creature  until  that  day  in  Court.  If  he  had 
only  shewn  her  to  me  before,  I  should  never  have 
allowed  it. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  You  did  all  this  for  Leo's  sake, 
Rejjy? 

Reginald  [with  an  unbearable  sense  of  injury]  1\ 
shouldnt  mind  a  bit  if  it  were  for  Leo's  sake.  But  to  f 
have  to  do  it  to  make  room  for  that  mushroom-faced  serv 
pent      !  * —  -      i**" *c"jij i  mm"  — 

The  General  [jumping  up]  What  right  had  he  to 
be  made  room  for?  Are  you  in  your  senses?  What 
right? 

Reginald.  The  right  of  being  a  young  man,  suitable 
to  a  young  woman.  I  had  no  right  at  my  age  to  marry 
Leo:  she  knew  no  more  about  life  than  a  child. 

Leo.  I  knew  a  great  deal  more  about  it  than  a  great 
baby  like  you.  I'm  sure  I  dont  know  how  youll  get  on 
with  no  one  to  take  care  of  you:  I  often  lie  awake  at  night 
thinking  about  it.  And  now  youve  made  me  thoroughly 
miserable. 

Reginald.  Serve  you  right!  [She  weeps].  There: 
dont  get  into  a  tantrum,  Leo. 

Lesbia.  May  one  ask  who  is  the  mushroom-faced  ser- 
pent ? 

Leo.     He  isnt. 

Reginald.     Sinjon  Hotchkiss,  of  course. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Sinjon  Hotchkiss!  Why,  he'i 
coming  to  the  wedding! 

Reginald.  What!  In  that  case  I'm  off  [he  make* 
for  the  tower]. 


116 


Getting  Married 


The  General 


Mrs    Bridge- 
north 


Lesbia 


[all  four  rush- 
ing after  him 
and  captur- 
ing him  on 
the  thresh- 
old] 


Leo  "1  f     [seizing  him]    No 

you  shant.  You  prom- 
ised to  be  nice  to 
him. 

No,  dont  go,  old 
chap.  Not  from 
Edith's  wedding. 

Oh,  do  stay,  Rej- 
jy.    I  shall  really  be 
hurt  if  you  desert  us. 
Better    stay,    Reg- 
inald.   You  must  meet 
^him  sooner  or  later. 
Reginald.     A  moment  ago,  when  I  wanted  to  stay, 
you  were  all  shoving  me  out  of  the  house.     Now  that  I 
want  to  go,  you  wont  let  me. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  I  shall  send  a  note  to  Mr  Hotch- 
kiss  not  to  come. 

Leo  [weeping  again]  Oh,  Alice!  [She  comes  back 
to  her  chair,  heartbroken]. 

Reginald  [out  of  patience]  Oh  well,  let  her  have  her 
way.  Let  her  have  her  mushroom.  Let  him  come.  Let 
them  all  come. 

He  crosses  the  kitchen  to  the  oak  chest  and  sits  sulkily 
on  it.  Mrs  Bridgenorth  shrugs  her  shoulders  and  sits  at 
the  table  in  Reginald's  neighborhood  listening  in  placid 
helplessness.  Lesbia,  out  of  patience  with  Leo's  tears, 
goes  into  the  garden  and  sits  there  near  the  door,  snuffing 
up  the  open  air  in  her  relief  from  the  domestic  stuffi- 
ness of  Reginald's  affairs. 

Leo.  It's  so  cruel  of  you  to  go  on  pretending  that  I 
dont  care  for  you,  Rejjy. 

Reginald  [bitterly]  She  explained  to  me  that  it  was 
only  that  she  had  exhausted  my  conversation. 

The  General  [coming  paternally  to  Leo]  My  dear 
girl:  all  the  conversation  in  the  world  has  been  exhausted 


Getting  Married  117 

long  ago.     Heaven  knows  I  have  exhausted  the  conversa- 
tion of  the  British  Army  these  thirty  years;  but  I  dont       / 
leave  it  on  that  account.  ' 

Leo.  It's  not  that  Ive  exhausted  it;  but  he  will  keep 
on  repeating  it  when  I  want  to  read  or  go  to  sleep.  And 
Sin j  on  amuses  me.     He's  so  clever. 

The    General    [stung]      Ha!     The    old   complaint.X/' 
You  all  want  geniuses  to  marry.    This  demand  for  clever<^ 
men  is  ridiculous.    Somebody  must  marry  the  plain,  hony 
est,  stupid  fellows.     Have  you  thought  of ^  that? 

Leo.  But  there  are  such  lots  of  stupid  women  to 
marry.  Why  do  they  want  to,  marry  us  ?  Besides,  Rejjy 
knows  that  I'm  quite  fond  of  him.  I  like  him  because  he 
wants  me;  and  I  like  Sin  j  on  because  I  want  him.  I  feel 
that  I  have  a  duty  to  Rejjy. 

The  General.     Precisely:  you  have. 

Leo.     And,  of  course,  Sin  j  on  has  the  same  duty  to  me. 

The  General.     Tut,  tut! 

Leo.  Oh,  how  silly  the  law  is!  Why  cant  I  marry 
them  both? 

The  General  [shocked]     Leo!  *v- 

Leo.  Well,  I  love  them  both.  I  should  like  toA 
marry  a  lot  of  men.  I  should  like  to  have  Rejjy  for  I 
every  day,  and  Sin  j  on  for  concerts  and  theatres  and/ 
going  out  in  the  evenings,  and  some  great  austere  saintx 
for  about  once  a  year  at  the  end  of  the  season,  and  some  j 
perfectly  blithering  idiot  of  a  boy  to  be  quite  wicked  I 
with.  I  so  seldom  feel  wicked ;  and,  when  I  do,  it's  such  \ 
a  pity  to  waste  it  merely  because  it's  too  silly  to  confess^/ 
to  a  real  grown-up  man. 

Reginald.  This  is  the  kind  of  thing,  you  know — 
[Helplessly]     Well,  there  it  is! 

The  General  [decisively]  Alice:  this  is  a  job  for 
the  Barmecide.  He's  a  Bishop:  it's  his  duty  to  talk  to 
Leo.  I  can  stand  a  good  deal;  but  when  it  comes  to  flat 
polygamy  and  polyandry,  we  ought  to  do  something. 


118  Getting  Married 

Mrs  Bridgenorth  [going  to  the  study  door]  Do 
come  here  a  moment,  Alfred.     We're  in  a  difficulty. 

The  Bishop  [within]     Ask  Collins,  I'm  busy. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Collins  wont  do.  It's  something 
very  serious.  Do  come  just  a  moment,  dear.  [When 
she  hears  him  coming  she  takes  a  chair  at  the  nearest  end 
of  the  table]. 

The  Bishop  comes  out  of  his  study.  He  is  still  a  slim 
active  man,  spare  of  flesh,  and  younger  by  temperament 
than  his  brothers.  He  has  a  delicate  shin,  fine  hands,  a 
salient  nose  with  chin  to  match,  a  short  beard  which  ac- 
centuates his  sharp  chin  by  bristling  forward,  clever  hu- 
:  morous  eyes,  not  without  a  glint  of  mischief  in  them, 
/  ready  bright  speech,  and  the  ways  of  a  successful  man 
who  is  always  interested  in  himself  and  generally  rather 
well  pleased  with  himself.  When  Lesbia  hears  his  voice 
she  turns  her  chair  towards  him,  and  presently  rises  and 
stands  in  the  doorway  listening  to  the  conversation. 

The  Bishop-  [going  to  Leo]  Good  morning,  my  dear. 
Hullo !  Youve  brought  Reginald  with  you.  Thats  very 
nice  of  you.     Have  you  reconciled  them,  Boxer? 

The  General.  Reconciled  them!  Why,  man,  the 
whole  divorce  was  a  put-up  job.  She  wants  to  marry 
some  fellow  named  Hotchkiss. 

Reginald.     A  fellow  with  a  face  like — 

Leo.     You  shant,  Rejjy.     He  has  a  very  fine  face. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  And  now  she  says  she  wants  to 
marry  both  of  them,  and  a  lot  of  other  people  as  well. 

Leo.  I  didnt  say  I  wanted  to  marry  them:  I  only 
said  I  should  like  to  marry  them. 

The  Bishop.     Quite  a  nice  distinction,  Leo. 

Leo.     Just  occasionally,  you  know. 

The  Bishop  [sitting  down  cosily  beside  her]  Quite 
so.  Sometimes  a  poet,  sometimes  a  Bishop,  sometimes  a 
fairy  prince,  sometimes  somebody  quite  indescribable, 
and  sometimes  nobody  at  alL 


Getting  Married  119 

Leo.     Yes:  thats  just  it.     How  did  you  know? 

The  Bishop.     Oh,  I  should  say  most  imaginative  and 
cultivated  young  women  feel  like  that.     I  wouldnt  give 
a  rap  for  one  who  didnt.     Shakespear  pointed  out  long  "\ 
ago  that  a  woman  wanted  a  Sunday  husband  as  well  as   $ 
a  weekday  one.     But,  as  usual,  he  didnt  follow  up  the  * 
idea. 

The  General  [aghast]     Am  I  to  understand — 

The  Bishop  [cutting  him  short]  Now,  Boxer,  am  I 
the  Bishop  or  are  you? 

The  General   [sulkily]     You. 

The  Bishop.  Then  dont  ask  me  are  you  to  under- 
stand. "  Yours  not  to  reason  why :  yours  but  to  do  and 
die"— 

The  General.  Oh,  very  well:  go  on.  I'm  not 
clever.  Only  a  silly  soldier  man.  Ha !  Go  on.  [He 
throws  himself  into  the  railed  chair,  as  one  prepared  for 
the  worst]. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.     Alfred:  dont  tease  Boxer. 

The  Bishop.  If  we  are  going  to  discuss  ethical  ques- 
tions we  must  begin  by  giving  the  devil  fair  play.  Boxer 
never  does.  England  never  does.  We  always  assume  that 
the  devil  is  guilty;  and  we  wont  allow  him  to  prove  his 
innocence,  because  it  would  be  against  public  morals  if 
he  succeeded.  We  used  to  do  the  same  with  prisoners 
accused  of  high  treason.  And  the  consequence  is  that  we 
overreach  ourselves;  and  the  devil  gets  the  better  of  us 
.  after  all.  Perhaps  thats  what  most  of  us  intend  him 
to  do. 

The  General.  Alfred :  we  asked  you  here  to  preach 
to  Leo.  You  are  preaching  at  me  instead.  I  am  not  con- 
scious of  having  said  or  o\one  anything  that  calls  for  that 
unsolicited  attention. 

The  Bishop.  But  poor  little  Leo  has  only  told  the 
simple  truth;  whilst  you,  Boxer,  are  striking  moral  atti- 
tudes. 


/ 


120  Getting  Married 

The  General.  I  suppose  thats  an  epigram.  I  dont 
understand  epigrams.  I'm  only  a  silly  soldier  man.  Ha! 
But  I  can  put  a  plain  question.  Is  Leo  to  be  encouraged 
to  be  a  polygamist? 

The  Bishop.  Remember  the  British  Empire,  Boxer. 
Youre  a  British  General,  you  know. 

The  General.     What  has  that  to  do  with  polygamy? 

The  Bishop.  Well,  the  great  majority  of  our  fellow- 
subjects  are  polygamists.  I  cant  as  a  British  Bishop 
insult  them  by  speaking  disrespectfully  of  polygamy. 
It's  a  very  interesting  question.  Many  very  interesting 
men  have  been  polygamists:  Solomon,  Mahomet,  and  our 
friend  the  Duke  of  — of — hm!  I  never  can  remember 
his  name. 

The  General.     It  would  become  you  better,  Alfred, 

to  send  that  silly  girl  back  to  her  husband  and  her  duty 

p  than  to  talk  clever  and  mock  at  your  religion.     "  What 

1  God  hath  joined  together  let  no  man  put  asunder."     Re- 

J  member  that. 

The  Bishop.  Dont  be  afraid,  Boxer.  What  God 
hath  joined  together  no  man  ever  shall  put  asunder:  God 
will  take  care  of  that.  [To  Leo]  By  the  way,  who  was 
it  that  joined  you  and  Reginald,  my  dear? 

Leo.  It  was  that  awful  little  curate  that  afterwards 
drank,  and  travelled  first  class  with  a  third-class  ticket, 
and  then  tried  to  go  on  the  stage.  But  they  wouldnt 
have  him.     He  called  himself  Egerton  Fotheringay. 

The  Bishop.  Well,  whom  Egerton  Fotheringay  hath 
joined,  let  Sir  Gorell  Barnes  put  asunder  by  all  means. 

The  General.  I  may  be  a  silly  soldier  man;  but  I 
call  this  blasphemy. 

The  Bishop  [gravely]  Better  for  me  to  take  the 
name  of  Mr  Egerton  Fotheringay  in  earnest  than  for 
you  to  take  a  higher  name  in  vain. 

Lesbia.  Cant  you  three  brothers  ever  meet  without 
quarrelling? 


Getting  Married  121 

The  Bishop  [mildly]  This  is  not  quarrelling,  Les- 
bia:  it's  only  English  family  life.     Good  morning. 

Leo.  You  know,  Bishop,  it's  very  dear  of  you  to  take 
my  part;  but  I'm  not  sure  that  I'm  not  a  little  shocked. 

The  Bishop.  Then  I  think  Ive  been  a  little  more 
successful  than  Boxer  in  getting  you  into  a  proper  frame 
of  mind. 

The  General  [snorting]     Ha! 

Leo.  Not  a  bit;  for  now  I'm  going  to  shock  you 
worse  than  ever.     I  think  Solomon  was  an  old  beast. 

The  Bishop.  Precisely  what  you  ought  to  think  of 
him,  my  dear.     Dont  apologize. 

The  General  [more  shocked]  Well,  but  hang  it! 
Solomon  was  in  the  Bible.  And,  after  all,  Solomon  was 
Solomon. 

Leo.  And  I  stick  to  it:  I  still  want  to  have  a  lot  of 
interesting  men  to  know  quite  intimately — to  say  every- 
thing I  think  of  to  them,  and  have  them  say  everything 
they  think  of  to  me. 

The  Bishop.  So  you  shall,  my  dear,  if  you  are  lucky. 
But  you  know  you  neednt  marry  them  all.  Think  of  all 
the  buttons  you  would  have  to  sew  on.  Besides,  nothing 
is  more  dreadful  than  a  husband  who  keeps  telling  you 
everything  he  thinks,  and  always  wants  to  know  what 
you  think. 

Leo  [struck  by  this]  Well,  thats  very  true  of  Rejjy: 
in  fact,  thats  why  I  had  to  divorce  him. 

The  Bishop  [condoling]  Yes:  he  repeats  himself 
dreadfully,  doesnt  he? 

Reginald.  Look  here,  Alfred.  If  I  have  my  faults, 
let  her  find  them  out  for  herself  without  your  help. 

The  Bishop.  She  has  found  them  all  out  already, 
Reginald. 

Leo  [a  little  huffily]  After  all,  there  are  worse  men 
than  Reginald.  I  daresay  he's  not  so  clever  as  you;  but 
still  he's  not  such  a  fool  as  you  seem  to  think  him! 


122  Getting  Married 

The  Bishop.  Quite  right,  dear:  stand  up  for  your 
husband.  I  hope  you  will  always  stand  up  for  all  your 
husbands.  [He  rises  and  goes  to  the  hearth,  where  he 
stands  complacently  with  his  back  to  the  fireplace,  beam- 
ing at  them  all  as  at  a  roomful  of  children], 

Leo.  Please  dont  talk  as  if  I  wanted  to  marry  a 
whole  regiment.  For  me  there  can  never  be  more  than 
two.     I  shall  never  love  anybody  but  Rejjy  and  Sinjon. 

Reginald.     A  man  with  a  face  like  a — 

Leo.     I  wont  have  it,  Rejjy.     It's  disgusting. 

The  Bishop.  You  see,  my  dear,  youll  exhaust  Sin- 
jon's  conversation  too  in  a  week  or  so.  A  man  is  like  a 
phonograph  with  half-a-dozen  records.  You  soon  get 
tired  of  them  all;  and  yet  you  have  to  sit  at  table  whilst 
he  reels  them  off  to  every  new  visitor.  In  the  end  you 
have  to  be  content  with  his  common  humanity ;  and  when 
you  come  down  to  that,  you  find  out  about  men  what  a 
great  English  poet  of  my  acquaintance  used  to  say  about 
women:  that  they  all  taste  alike.  Marry  whom  you 
please:  at  the  end  of  a  month  he'll  be  Reginald  over 
again.     It  wasnt  worth  changing:  indeed  it  wasnt. 

Leo.     Then  it's  a  mistake  to  get  married. 

The  Bishop.  It  is,  my  dear;  but  it's  a  much  bigger 
mistake  not  to  get  married. 

The  General  [rising]  Ha!  You  hear  that,  Lesbia ? 
[He  joins  her  at  the  garden  door], 

Lesbia.     Thats  only  an  epigram,  Boxer. 

The  General.  Sound  sense,  Lesbia.  When  a  man 
talks  rot,  thats  epigram:  when  he  talks  sense,  then  I 
agree  with  him. 

Reginald  [coming  off  the  oak  chest  and  looking  at  his 
watch]  It's  getting  late.  Wheres  Edith?  Hasnt  she 
got  into  her  veil  and  orange  blossoms  yet? 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.     Do  go  and  hurry  her,  Lesbia. 

Lesbia  [going  out  through  the  tower]  Come  with  me, 
Leo. 


Getting  Married  128 

Leo   [following  Lesbia  out]     Yes,  certainly. 

The  Bishop  goes  over  to  his  wife  and  sits  down,  taking 
her  hand  and  kissing  it  by  way  of  beginning  a  conver- 
sation with  her. 

The  Bishop.  Alice:  Ive  had  another  letter  from  the 
mysterious  lady  who  cant  spell.  I  like  that  woman's 
letters.  Theres  an  intensity  of  passion  in  them  that  fas- 
cinates me. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Do  you  mean  Incognita  Appas- 
sionata  ? 

The  Bishop.     Yes. 

The  General  [turning  abruptly:  he  has  been  looking 
out  into  the  garden]  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  women 
write  love-letters  to  you? 

The  Bishop.     Of  course. 

The  General.     They  never  do  to  me. 

The  Bishop.  The  army  doesnt  attract  women:  the 
Church  does. 

Reginald.  Do  you  consider  it  right  to  let  them? 
They  may  be  married  women,  you  know. 

The  Bishop.  They  always  are.  This  one  is.  [To 
Mrs  Bridgenorth]  Dont  you  think  her  letters  are  quite 
the  best  love-letters  I  get?  [To  the  two  men]  Poor 
Alice  has  to  read  my  love-letters  aloud  to  me  at  break- 
fast, when  theyre  worth  it. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  There  really  is  something  fasci- 
nating about  Incognita.  She  never  gives  her  address. 
Thats  a  good  sign. 

The    General.     Mf!      No   assignations,   you   mean? 

The  Bishop.  Oh  yes:  she  began  the  correspond- 
ence by  making  a  very  curious  but  very  natural  assigna- 
tion. She  wants  me  to  meet  her  in  heaven.  I  hope  I 
shall. 

The  General.  Well,  I  must  say  I  hope  not,  Alfred. 
I  hope  not 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.     She  says  she  is  happily  married, 


124  Getting  Married 

and  that  love  is  a  necessary  of  life  to  her,  but  that  she 
must  have,  high  above  all  her  lovers — 

The  Bishop.     She  has  several  apparently — 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  — some  great  man  who  will 
never  know  her,  never  touch  her,  as  she  is  on  earth,  but 
whom  she  can  meet  in  heaven  when  she  has  risen  above 
all  the  everyday  vulgarities  of  earthly  love. 

The  Bishop  [rising]  Excellent.  Very  good  for  her; 
and  no  trouble  to  me.  Everybody  ought  to  have  one  of 
these  idealizations,  like  Dante's  Beatrice.  [He  clasps 
his  hands  behind  him,  and  strolls  to  the  hearth  and  back, 
singing].  J* 

Lesbia  appears  in  the  tower,  rather  perturbed. 

Lesbia.  Alice:  will  you  come  upstairs?  Edith  is  not 
dressed. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth  [rising]  Not  dressed!  Does  she 
know  what  hour  it  is? 

Lesbia.  She  has  locked  herself  into  her  room,  read- 
ing. 

The  Bishop's  song  ceases;  he  stops  dead  in  his  stroll. 

The  General.     Reading! 

The  Bishop.     What  is  she  reading? 

Lesbia.  Some  pamphlet  that  came  by  the  eleven 
o'clock  post.  She  wont  come  out.  She  wont  open  the 
door.  And  she  says  she  doesnt  know  whether  she's  going 
to  be  married  or  not  till  she's  finished  the  pamphlet.  Did 
you  ever  hear  such  a  thing?    Do  come  and  speak  to  her. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.     Alfred:  you  had  better  go. 

The  Bishop.     Try  Collins. 

Lesbia.  Weve  tried  Collins  already.  He  got  all  that 
Ive  told  you  out  of  her  through  the  keyhole.  Come, 
Alice.  [She  vanishes.  Mrs  Bridgenorth  hurries  after 
her] . 

The  Bishop.  This  means  a  delay.  I  shall  go  back 
to  my  work  [he  makes  for  the  study  door~\. 

Reginald.     What  are  you  working  at  now? 


Getting  Married  125 

The  Bishop  [stopping']  A  chapter  in  my  history  of 
marriage.     I'm  just  at  the  Roman  business,  you  know. 

The  General  [coming  from  the  garden  door  to  the 
chair  Mrs  Bridgenorth  has  just  left,  and  sitting  down] 
Not  more  Ritualism,  I  hope,  Alfred? 

The  Bishop.  Oh  no.  I  mean  ancient  Rome.  [He 
seats  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  table].  Ive  just  come 
to  the  period  when  the  propertied  classes  refused  to  get 
married  and  went  in  for  marriage  settlements  instead.  A 
few  of  the  oldest  families  stuck  to  the  marriage  tradition 
so  as  to  keep  up  the  supply  of  vestal  virgins,  who  had  to 
be  legitimate;  but  nobody  else  dreamt  of  getting  married. 
It's  all  very  interesting,  because  we're  coming  to  that 
here  in  England;  except  that  as  we  dont  require  any 
vestal  virgins,  nobody  will  get  married  at  all,  except  the 
poor,  perhaps. 

The  General.  You  take  it  devilishly  coolly.  Regi- 
nald: do  you  think  the  Barmecide's  quite  sane? 

Reginald.     No  worse  than  ever  he  was. 

The  General  [to  the  Bishop]  Do  you  mean  to  say 
you  believe  such  a  thing  will  ever  happen  in  England  as 
that  respectable  people  will  give  up  being  married? 

The  Bishop.  In  England  especially  they  will.  In 
other  countries  the  introduction  of  reasonable  divorce 
laws  will  save  the  situation;  but  in  EnglancLwe  always 
let  an  institution  strain  itseJf~untiT7it  breaks,  Ive  told 
our  last  four  Prime  Ministers  that  if  they  didnt  make  our 
marriage  laws  reasonable  there  would  be  a  strike  against 
marriage,  and  that  it  would  begin  among  the  propertied 
classes,  where  no  Government  would  dare  to  interfere 
with  it.  ^-— *— 

Reginald.     What  did  they  say  to  that? 

The  Bishop.  The  usual  thing.  Quite  agreed  with 
me,  but  were  sure  that  they  were  the  only  sensible  men 
in  the  world,  and  that  the  least  hint  of  marriage  reform 
would  lose  them  the  next  election.     And  then  lost  it  all 


126  Getting  Married 

the  same:  on  cordite,  on  drink,  on  Chinese  labor  in  South 
Africa,  on  all  sorts  of  trumpery. 

Reginald  [lurching  across  the  kitchen  towards  the 
hearth  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets]  It's  no  use:  they 
wont  listen  to  our  sort.  [Turning  on  them]  Of  course 
they  have  to  make  you  a  Bishop  and  Boxer  a  General, 
because,  after  all,  their  blessed  rabble  of  snobs  and  cads 
and  half-starved  shopkeepers  cant  do  government  work; 
and  the  bounders  and  week-enders  are  too  lazy  and  vul- 
gar. Theyd  simply  rot  without  us;  but  what  do  they 
ever  do  for  us  ?  what  attention  do  they  ever  pay  to  what 
we  say  and  what  we  want?  I  take  it  that  we  Bridge- 
norths  are  a  pretty  typical  English  family  of  the  sort 
that  has  always  set  things  straight  and  stuck  up  for  the 
right  to  think  and  believe  according  to  our  conscience. 
But  nowadays  we  are  expected  to  dress  and  eat  as  the 
week-end  bounders  do,  and  to  think  and  believe  as  the 
converted  cannibals  of  Central  Africa  do,  and  to  lie  down 
and  let  every  snob  and  every  cad  and  every  halfpenny 
journalist  walk  over  us.  Why,  theres  not  a  newspaper 
in  England  today  that  represents  what  I  call  solid 
Bridgenorth  opinion  and  tradition.  Half  of  them  read 
as  if  they  were  published  at  the  nearest  mother's  meet- 
ing, and  the  other  half  at  the  nearest  motor  garage.  Do 
you  call  these  chaps  gentlemen  ?  Do  you  call  them  Eng- 
lishmen? I  dont.  ,[He  throws  himself  disgustedly  into 
the  nearest  chair]. 

The  General  [excited  by  Reginald*s  eloquence]  Do 
you  see  my  uniform  ?  What  did  Collins  say  ?  It  strikes 
the  eye.  It  was  meant  to.  I  put  it  on  expressly  to  give 
the  modern  army  bounder  a  smack  in  the  eye.  Some- 
body has  to  set  a  right  example  by  beginning.  Well,  let 
it  be  a  Bridgenorth.  I  believe  in  family  blood  and  tradi- 
tion, by  George. 

The  Bishop  [musing]  I  wonder  who  will  begin  the 
stand  against  marriage.    It  must  come  some  day.     I  was 


Getting  Married  127 

married  myself  before  I'd  thought  about  it;  and  even  if 
I  had  thought  about  it  I  was  too  much  in  love  with  Alice 
to  let  anything  stand  in  the  way.  But,  you  know,  Ive 
seen  one  of  our  daughters  after  another — Ethel,  Jane, 
Fanny,  and  Christina  and  Florence — go  out  at  that  door 
in  their  veils  and  orange  blossoms;  and  Ive  always  won- 
dered whether  theyd  have  gone  quietly  if  theyd  known 
what  they  were  doing.  Ive  a  horrible  misgiving  about 
that  pamphlet.  All  progress  means  war  with  Society. 
Heaven  forbid  that  Edith  should  be  one  of  the  com- 
batants ! 

St  John  HotchJciss  comes  into  the  tower  ushered  by 
Collins.  He  is  a  very  smart  young  gentleman  of  twenty- 
nine  or  thereabouts,  correct  in  dress  to  the  last  thread 
of  his  collar,  but  too  much  preoccupied  with  his  ideas  to 
be  embarrassed  by  any  concern  as  to  his  appearance.  He 
talks  about  himself  with  energetic  gaiety.  He  talks  to 
other  people  with  a  sweet  forbearance  {implying  a  kindly 
consideration  for  their  stupidity)  which  infuriates  those 
whom  he  does  not  succeed  in  amusing.  They  either  lose 
their  tempers  with  him  or  try  in  vain  to  snub  him. 

Collins  [announcing]  Mr  Hotchkiss.  [He  with- 
draws]. 

Hotchkiss  [clapping  Reginald  gaily  on  the  shoulder 
as  he  passes  him]     Tootle  loo,  Rejjy. 

Reginald  [curtly,  without  rising  or  turning  his  head] 
Morning. 

Hotchkiss.     Good  morning,  Bishop. 
The  Bishop   [coming  off  the  table].     What  on  earth 
are  you  doing  here,  Sinjon?     You  belong  to  the  bride- 
groom's  party:  youve  no   business  here  until  after  the 
ceremony. 

Hotchkiss.  Yes,  I  know:  thats  just  it.  May  I  have 
a  word  with  you  in  private?  Rej  j  y  or  any  of  the  fam- 
ily wont  matter;  but — [he  glances  at  the  General,  who 
has  risen   rather  stiffly,  as   he  strongly   disapproves  of 


128  Getting  Married 

the  part  played  by  Hotchkiss  in  Reginald's  domestic 
affairs]. 

The  Bishop.  All  right,  Sin j  on.  This  is  our  brother, 
General  Bridgenorth.  [He  goes  to  the  hearth  and  posts 
himself  there,  with  his  hands  clasped  behind  him], 

Hotchkiss.  Oh,  good!  [He  turns  to  the  General, 
and  takes  out  a  card-case].  As  you  are  in  the  service, 
allow  me  to  introduce  myself.  Read  my  card,  please. 
[He  presents  his  card  to  the  astonished  General], 

The  General  [reading]  "  Mr  St  John  Hotchkiss, 
the  Celebrated  Coward,  late  Lieutenant  in  the  165th 
Fusiliers." 

Reginald  [with  a  chuckle]  He  was  sent  back  from 
South  Africa  because  he  funked  an  order  to  attack,  and 
spoiled  his  commanding  officer's  plan. 

The  General  [very  gravely]  I  remember  the  case 
now.  I  had  forgotten  the  name.  I'll  not  refuse  your 
acquaintance,  Mr  Hotchkiss;  partly  because  youre  my 
brother's  guest,  and  partly  because  Ive  seen  too  much 
active  service  not  to  know  that  every  man's  nerve  plays 
him  false  at  one  time  or  another,  and  that  some  very  hon- 
orable men  should  never  go  into  action  at  all,  because 
theyre  not  built  that  way.  But  if  I  were  you  I  should 
not  use  that  visiting  card.  No  doubt  it's  an  honorable 
trait  in  your  character  that  you  dont  wish  any  man  to 
give  you  his  hand  in  ignorance  of  your  disgrace ;  but  you 
had  better  allow  us  to  forget.  We  wish  to  forget.  It 
isnt  your  disgrace  alone :  it's  a  disgrace  to  the  army  and 
to  all  of  us.     Pardon  my  plain  speaking. 

Hotchkiss  [sunnily]  My  dear  General,  I  dont  know 
what  fear  means  in  the  military  sense  of  the  word.  Ive 
fought  seven  duels  with  the  sabre  in  Italy  and  Austria, 
and  one  with  pistols  in  France,  without  turning  a  hair. 
There  was  no  other  way  in  which  I  could  vindicate  my 
motives  in  refusing  to  make  that  attack  at  Smutsfontein. 
I  dont  pretend  to  be  a  brave  man.     I'm  afraid  of  wasps. 


Getting  Married  129 

I'm  afraid  of  cats.  In  spite  of  the  voice  of  reason,  I'm 
afraid  of  ghosts;  and  twice  Ive  fled  across  Europe  from 
false  alarms  of  cholera.  But  afraid  to  fight  I  am  not. 
[He  turns  gaily  to  Reginald  and  slaps  him  on  the  shoul- 
der].    Eh,  Rejjy?      [Reginald  grunts']. 

The  General.  Then  why  did  you  not  do  your  duty 
at  Smutsfontein? 

Hotchkiss.  I  did  my  duty — my  higher  duty.  If  I 
had  made  that  attack,  my  commanding  officer's  plan 
would  have  been  successful,  and  he  would  have  been  pro- 
moted. Now  I  happen  to  think  that  the  British  Army 
should  be  commanded  by  gentlemen,  and  by  gentlemen 
alone.  This  man  was  not  a  gentleman.  I  sacrificed  my 
military-  career — I  faced  disgrace  and  social  ostracism — 
rather  than  give  that  man  his  chance. 

The  General  [generously  indignant]  Your  com- 
manding officer,  sir,  was  my  friend  Major  Billiter. 

Hotchkiss.     Precisely.     What  a  name! 

The  General.  And  pray,  sir,  on  what  ground  do 
you  dare  allege  that  Major  Billiter  is  not  a  gentleman? 

Hotchkiss.  By  an  infallible  sign:  one  of  those  tri- 
fles that  stamp  a  man.  He  eats  rice  pudding  with  a 
spoon. 

The  General  [very  angry]  Confound  you,  I  eat 
rice  pudding  with  a  spoon.     Now! 

Hotchkiss.  Oh,  so  do  I,  frequently.  But  there  are 
ways  of  doing  these  things.  Billiter's  way  was  unmis- 
takable. 

The  General.  Well,  I'll  tell  you  something  now. 
When  I  thought  you  were  only  a  coward,  I  pitied  you, 
and  would  have  done  what  I  could  to  help  you  back  to 
your  place  in  Society — 

Hotchkiss  [interrupting  him]  Thank  you:  I  havnt 
lost  it.  My  motives  have  been  fully  appreciated.  I  was 
made  an  honorary  member  of  two  of  the  smartest  clubs 
in  London  when  the  truth  came  out. 


130  Getting  Married 

The  General.  Well,  sir,  those  clubs  consist  of 
snobs;  and  you  are  a  jumping,  bounding,  prancing, 
snorting  snob  yourself. 

The  Bishop  [amused,  but  hospitably  remonstrant] 
My  dear  Boxer! 

Hotchkiss  [delighted]  How  kind  of  you  to  say  so, 
General!  Youre  quite  right:  I  am  a  snob.  Why  not? 
The  whole  strength  of  England  lies  in  the  fact  that  the 
enormous  majority  of  the  English  people  are  snobs. 
They  insult  poverty.  They  despise  vulgarity.  They 
love  nobility.  They  admire  exclusiveness.  They  will 
not  obey  a  man  risen  from  the  ranks.  They  never  trust 
one  of  their  own  class.  I  agree  with  them.  I  share  their 
instincts.  In  my  undergraduate  days  I  was  a  Republi- 
can— a  Socialist.  I  tried  hard  to  feel  toward  a  common 
man  as  I  do  towards  a  duke.  I  couldnt.  Neither  can 
you.  Well,  why  should  we  be  ashamed  of  this  aspiration 
towards  what  is  above  us  ?  Why  dont  I  say  that  an  hon- 
est man's  the  noblest  work  of  God?  Because  I  dont 
think  so.  If  he's  not  a  gentleman,  I  dont  care  whether 
he's  honest  or  not:  I  shouldnt  let  his  son  marry  my 
daughter.  And  thats  the  test,  mind.  Thats  the  test. 
You  feel  as  I  do.  You  are  a  snob  in  fact:  I  am  a  snob, 
not  only  in  fact,  but  on  principle.  I  shall  go  down  in 
history,  not  as  the  first  snob,  but  as  the  first  avowed 
champion  of  English  snobbery,  and  its  first  martyr  in  the 
army.  The  navy  boasts  two  such  martyrs  in  Captains 
Kirby  and  Wade,  who  were  shot  for  refusing  to  fight 
under  Admiral  Benbow,  a  promoted  cabin  boy.  I  have 
always  envied  them  their  glory. 

The  General.  As  a  British  General,  sir,  I  have  to 
inform  you  that  if  any  officer  under  my  command  violated 
the  sacred  equality  of  our  profession  by  putting  a  single 
jot  of  his  duty  or  his  risk  on  the  shoulders  of  the  hum- 
blest drummer  boy,  I'd  shoot  him  with  my  own  hand. 

Hotchkiss.     That    sentiment   is    not   your    equality, 


Getting  Married  131 

General,  but  your  superiority.     Ask  the  Bishop.      [He 
seats  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  table]. 

The  Bishop.  I  cant  support  you,  Sin j  on.  My  pro- 
fession also  compels  me  to  turn  my  back  on  snobbery. 
You  see,  I  have  to  do  such  a  terribly  democratic  thing  to 
every  child  that  is  brought  to  me.  Without  distinction  of 
class  I  have  to  confer  on  it  a  rank  so  high  and  awful  that 
all  the  grades  in  Debrett  and  Burke  seem  like  the  medals 
they  give  children  in  Infant  Schools  in  comparison.  I'm 
not  allowed  to  make  any  class  distinction.  They  are  all 
soldiers  and  servants,  not  officers  and  masters. 

Hotchkiss.  Ah,  youre  quoting  the  Baptism  service. 
Thats  not  a  bit  real,  you  know.  If  I  may  say  so,  you 
would  both  feel  so  much  more  at  peace  with  yourselves 
if  you  would  acknowledge  and  confess  your  real  convic- 
tions. You  know  you  dont  really  think  a  Bishop  the 
equal  of  a  curate,  or  a  lieutenant  in  a  line  regiment  the 
equal  of  a  general. 

The  Bishop.     Of  course  I  do.    I  was  a  curate  myself. 
The  General.    And  I  was  a  lieutenant  in  a  line  regi- 
ment. 

Reginald.  And  I  was  nothing.  But  we're  all  our 
own  and  one  another's  equals,  arnt  we?  So  perhaps 
when  youve  quite  done  talking  about  yourselves,  we  shall 
get  to  whatever  business  Sinjon  came  about. 

Hotchkiss  [coming  off  the  table  hastily']  Oh!  true, 
my  dear  fellow.  I  beg  a  thousand  pardons.  It's  about 
the  wedding? 

The  General.  What  about  the  wedding? 
Hotchkiss.  Well,  we  cant  get  our  man  up  to  the 
scratch.  Cecil  has  locked  himself  in  his  room  and  wont 
see  or  speak  to  any  one.  I  went  up  to  his  room  and 
banged  at  the  door.  I  told  him  I  should  look  through 
the  keyhole  if  he  didnt  answer.  I  looked  through  the 
keyhole.  He  was  sitting  on  his  bed,  reading  a  book. 
[Reginald  rises  in  consternation.     The  General  recoil*]. 


\. 


132  Getting  Married 

I  told  him  not  to  be  an  ass,  and  so  forth.  He  said  he 
was  not  going  to  budge  until  he  had  finished  the  book. 
I  asked  him  did  he  know  what  time  it  was,  and  whether 
he  happened  to  recollect  that  he  had  a  rather  important 
appointment  to  marry  Edith.  He  said  the  sooner  I 
stopped  interrupting  him,  the  sooner  he'd  be  ready. 
Then  he  stuffed  his  fingers  in  his  ears;  turned  over  on 
his  elbows;  and  buried  himself  in  his  beastly  book.  I 
couldnt  get  another  word  out  of  him;  so  I  thought  I'd 
better  come  here  and  warn  you. 

Reginald.  This  looks  to  me  like  a  practical  joke. 
Theyve  arranged  it  between  them. 

The  Bishop.  No.  Edith  has  no  sense  of  humor. 
And  Ive  never  seen  a  man  in  a  jocular  mood  on  his  wed- 
ding morning. 

Collins  appears  in  the  tower,  ushering  in  the  bride- 
groom, a  young  gentleman  with  good  looks  of  the  serious 
kind,  somewhat  careworn  by  an  exacting  conscience,  and 
just  now  distracted  by  insoluble  problems  of  conduct. 

Collins  [announcing]  Mr  Cecil  Sykes.     [He  retires], 

Hotchkiss.  Look  here,  Cecil:  this  is  all  wrong. 
Youve  no  business  here  until  after  the  wedding.  Hang 
it,  man !  youre  the  bridegroom. 

Sykes    [coming  to   the  Bishop,  and   addressing   him 

t    with   dogged  desperation']      Ive  come  here  to  say  this. 

/      When  I  proposed  to  Edith_I_was  in  utter  ignorance  of 

-\  what  I  was  letting  myself  in  for  iegallyT^Having  given 

•     /  my  word,  I  wnT  s!amrt?5TF.     Tod  have  me  at  your  mercy: 

<  marry  me  if  you  insist/    But  take^qoticej that  I  protest. 

[He  sits  down  distractedly  in  the  raUear~cliairj7 

The  General.  f  What  the   devil   do   you 

^ttoth  mean  hy  this?     Whflt 

•   highly    -        the — 

incensed]     Confound    your    imperti- 
I       nence,  what  do  you — 


Reginald. 


H 


The  Bishop. 


Getting  Married  133 

38.  [Easy,  Rejjy.  Easy,  old  man.  Steady, 
steady,  steady.  [Reginald  subsides 
into  his  chair.  Hotchkiss  sits  on 
his  right,  appeasing  him], 
Xo,  please,  Rej.  Control  yourself, 
Boxer,  I  beg  you. 

The  General.  I  tell  you  I  cant  control  myself. 
Ive  been  controlling  myself  for  the  last  half-hour  until 
I  feel  like  bursting,  [if  e  sits  down  furiously  at  the  end 
of  the  table  next  the  study], 

Sykes  [pointing  to  the  simmering  Reginald  and  the 
boiling  General]  Thats  just  it,  Bishop.  Edith  is  her 
uncle's  niece.  She  cant  control  herself  any  more  than 
they  can.  And  she's  a  Bishop's  daughter.  That  means 
that  she's  engaged  in  social  work  of  all  sorts :  organizing 
shop  assistants  and  sweated  work  girls  and  all  that. 
When  her  blood  boils  about  it  (and  it  boils  at  least  once 
a  week)  she  doesnt  care  what  she  says. 

Reginald.  Well:  you  knew  that  when  you  proposed 
to  her. 

Sykes.  Yes ;  but  I  didnt  know  that  when  we  were 
married  I  should  be  legally  responsible  if  she  libelled 
anybody,  though  all  her  property  is  protected  against  me 
as  if  I  were  the  lowest  thief  and  cadger.  This  morning 
somebody  sent  me  Belfort  Bax's  essays  on  Men's 
Wrongs ;  and  they  have  been  a  perfect  eye-opener  to  me. 
Bishop:  I'm  not  thinking  of  myself:  I  would  face  any- 
thing for  Edith.  But  my  mother  and  sisters  are  wholly 
dependent  on  my  property.  I'd  rather  have  to  cut  off 
an  inch  from  my  right  arm  than  a  hundred  a  year  from 
my  mother's  income.    I  owe  everything  to  her  care  of  me. 

Edith,  in  dressing-jacket  and  petticoat,  comes  in 
through  the  tower,  swiftly  and  determinedly,  pamphlet 
in  hand,  principles  up  in  arms,  more  of  a  bishop  than  her 
father,  yet  as  much  a  gentlewoman  as  her  mother.  She 
is  the  typical  spoilt  child  of  a  clerical  household:  almost 


134  Getting  Married 

as  terrible  a  product  as  the  typical  spoilt  child  of  a  Bo- 
hemian household :  that  is,  all  her  childish  affectations  of 
conscientious  scruple  and  religious  impulse  have  been 
applauded  and  deferred  to  until  she  has  become  an  ethi- 
cal snob  of  the  first  water.  Her  father's  sense  of  humor 
and  her  mother's  placid  balance  have  done  something  to 
save  her  humanity;  but  her  impetuous  temper  and  ener- 
getic will,  unrestrained  by  any  touch  of  humor  or  scep- 
ticism, carry  everything  before  them.  Imperious  and 
dogmatic,  she  takes  command  of  the  party  at  once. 

Edith  [standing  behind  Cecil's  chair]  Cecil:  I  heard 
your  voice.  I  must  speak  to  you  very  particularly. 
Papa :  go  away.     Go  away  everybody. 

The  Bishop  [crossing  to  the  study  door]  I  think 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  Edith  wishes  us  to  retire. 
Come.  [He  stands  in  the  doorway,  waiting  for  them  to 
follow]. 

Sykes.  Thats  it,  you  see.  It's  just  this  outspoken- 
ness that  makes  my  position  hard,  much  as  I  admire  her 
for  it. 

Edith.     Do  you  want  me  to  flatter  and  be  untruthful? 

Sykes.     No,  not  exactly  that. 

Edith.  Does  anybody  want  me  to  flatter  and  be  un- 
truthful? 

Hotchkiss.  Well,  since  you  ask  me,  I  do.  Surely 
it's  the  very  first  qualification  for  tolerable  social  inter- 
course. 

The  General  [markedly]  I  hope  you  will  always 
tell  me  the  truth,  my  darling,  at  all  events. 

Edith  [complacently  coming  to  the  fireplace]  You 
can  depend  on  me  for  that,  Uncle  Boxer. 

Hotchkiss.  Are  you  sure  you  have  any  adequate 
idea  of  what  the  truth  about  a  military  man  really  is  ? 

Reginald  [aggressively]  Whats  the  truth  about  you, 
I  wonder? 

Hotchkiss.     Oh,  quite  unfit  for  publication  in  its  en- 


Getting  Married  135 

tirety.  If  Miss  Bridgenorth  begins  telling  it,  I  shall 
have  to  leave  the  room. 

Reginald.  I'm  not  at  all  surprised  to  hear  it.  [Ris- 
ing] But  whats  it  got  to  do  with  our  business  here 
to-day?  Is  it  you  thats  going  to  be  married  or  is  it 
Edith? 

Hotchkiss.  I'm  so  sorry.  I  get  so  interested  in  my- 
self that  I  thrust  myself  into  the  front  of  every  discus- 
sion in  the  most  insufferable  way.  [Reginald,  with  an 
exclamation  of  disgust,  crosses  the  kitchen  towards  the 
study  door~\.  But,  my  dear  Rejjy,  are  you  quite  sure 
that  Miss  Bridgenorth  is  going  to  be  married?  Arc 
you,  Miss  Bridgenorth? 

Before  Edith  has  time  to  answer  her  mother  return* 
with  Leo  and  Lesbia. 

Leo.  Yes,  here  she  is,  of  course.  I  told  you  I  heard 
her  dash  downstairs.  [She  comes  to  the  end  of  the  table 
next  the  fireplace], 

Mrs  Bridgenorth  [transfixed  in  the  middle  of  the 
kitchen]     And  Cecil!  ! 

Lesbia.     And  Sin j on! 

The  Bishop.  Edith  wishes  to  speak  to  Cecil.  [Mrs 
Bridgenorth  comes  to  him.  Lesbia  goes  into  the  garden, 
as  before].     Let  us  gc  into  my  study. 

Leo.  But  she  must  come  and  dress.  Look  at  the 
hour! 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Come,  Leo  dear.  [Leo  follows 
her  reluctantly.  They  are  about  to  go  into  the  study 
with  the  Bishop], 

Hotchkiss.  Do  you  know,  Miss  Bridgenorth,  I 
should  most  awfully  like  to  hear  what  you  have  to  say  to 
poor  Cecil. 

Reginald   [scandalised]     Well! 

Edith.     Who  is  poor  Cecil,  pray? 

Hotchkiss.  One  always  calls  a  man  that  on  his  wed- 
ding morning:  I  dont  know  why.     I'm  his  best  man,  you 


136  Getting  Married 

know.     Dont  you  think  it  gives  me  a  certain  right  to  be 
present  in  Cecil's  interest? 

The  General  [gravely]  There  is  such  a  thing  as 
delicacy,  Mr  Hotchkiss. 

Hotchkiss.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  curiosity,  Gen- 
eral. 

The  General  [furious]  Delicacy  is  thrown  away 
here,  Alfred.  Edith:  you  had  better  take  Sykes  into  the 
study. 

The  group  at  the  study  door  breaks  up.  The  General 
flings  himself  into  the  last  chair  on  the  long  side  of  the 
table,  near  the  garden  door.  Leo  sits  at  the  end,  next 
him,  and  Mrs  Bridgenorth  next  Leo.  Reginald  returns 
to  the  oak  chest,  to  be  near  Leo;  and  the  Bishop  goes  to 
his  wife  and  stands  by  her. 

Hotchkiss  [to  Edith]  Of  course  I'll  go  if  you  wish 
me  to.  But  Cecil's  objection  to  go  through  with  it  was 
so  entirely  on  public  grounds — 

Edith  [with  quick  suspicion]     His  objection? 

Sykes.  Sin j on:  you  have  no  right  to  say  that.  I  ex- 
pressly said  that  I'm  ready  to  go  through  with  it. 

Edith.  Cecil:  do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  have 
been  raising  difficulties  about  our  marriage? 

Sykes.  I  raise  no  difficulty.  But  I  do  beg  you  to  be 
careful  what  you  say  about  people.  You  must  remember, 
my  dear,  that  when  we  are  married  I  shall  be  responsi- 
ble for  everything  you  say.  Only  last  week  you  said  on 
a  public  platform  that  Slattox  and  Chinnery  were  scoun- 
drels. They  could  have  got  a  thousand  pounds  damages 
apiece  from  me  for  that  if  we'd  been  married  at  the 
time. 

Edith  [austerely~\  I  never  said  anything  of  the  sort. 
I  never  stoop  to  mere  vituperation :  what  would  my  girls 
say  of  me  if  I  did?  I  chose  my  words  most  carefully.  I 
said  they  were  tyrants,  liars,  and  thieves;  and  so  they 
are.    Slattox  is  even  worse. 


Getting  Married  137 

Hotchkiss.  I'm  afraid  that  would  be  at  least  five 
thousand  pounds. 

Sykes.  If  it  were  only  myself,  I  shouldnt  care.  But 
my  mother  and  sisters !  Ive  no  right  to  sacrifice 
them. 

Edith.  You  neednt  be  alarmed.  I'm  not  going  to  be 
married. 

All  the  rest.     Not! 

Sykes  [in  consternation]  Edith!  Are  you  throwing 
me  over? 

Edith.  How  can  I  ?  you  have  been  beforehand  with 
me. 

Sykes..  On  my  honor,  no.  All  I  said  was  that  I 
didnt  know  the  law  when  I  asked  you  to  be  my 
wife. 

Edith.  And  you  wouldnt  have  asked  me  if  you  had. 
Is  that  it? 

Sykes.  No.  I  should  have  asked  you  for  my  sake  to 
be  a  little  more  careful — not  to  ruin  me  uselessly. 

Edith.     You  think  the  truth  useless? 

Hotchkiss.  Much  worse  than  useless,  I  assure  you. 
Frequently  most  mischievous. 

Edith.  Sin j on:  hold  your  tongue.  You  are  a  chat- 
terbox and  a  fool! 

t 

Mrs  Bridgenorth  )   r  t      t    jm   f  Edith ! 


I  [shocked]  |  Mylj 


The  Bishop  [  l— « J  |  My  love! 

Hotchkiss    [mildly]       I    shall    not    take    an    action, 
Cecil. 

Edith  [to  Hotchkiss]  Sorry;  but  you  are  old  enough 
to  know  better.  [To  the  others]  And  now  since  there  is 
to  be  no  wedding,  we  had  better  get  back  to  our  work. 
Mamma :  will  you  tell  Collins  to  cut  up  the  wedding  cake 
into  thirty-three  pieces  for  the  club  girls  ?  My  not  being 
married  is  no  reason  why  they  should  be  disappointed.  V 
[She  turns  to  go]. 


138  Getting  Married 

Hotchkis8  [gallantly]  If  youll  allow  me  to  take 
Cecil's  place,  Miss  Bridgenorth — 

Leo.     Sin  j  on! 

Hotchkiss.  Oh,  I  forgot.  I  beg  your  pardon.  [To 
Edith,  apologetically]     A  prior  engagement. 

Edith.  What!  You  and  Leo!  I  thought  so.  Well, 
hadnt  you  two  better  get  married  at  once?  I  dont  ap- 
prove of  long  engagements.  The  breakfast's  ready:  the 
cake's  ready:  everything's  ready.  I'll  lend  Leo  my  veil 
and  things. 

The  Bishop.  I'm  afraid  they  must  wait  until  the 
decree  is  made  absolute,  my  dear.  And  the  license  is  not 
transferable. 

Edith.  Oh  well,  it  cant  be  helped.  Is  there  any- 
thing else  before  I  go  off  to  the  Club? 

Sykes.  You  dont  seem  much  disappointed,  Edith.  I 
cant  help  saying  that  much. 

Edith.  And  you  cant  help  looking  enormously  re- 
lieved, Cecil.    We  shant  be  any  worse  friends,  shall  we? 

Sykes  [distractedly]  Of  course  not.  Still — I'm  per- 
fectly ready — at  least — if  it  were  not  for  my  mother — 
Oh,  I  dont  know  what  to  do.  Ive  been  so  fond  of  you ; 
and  when  the  worry  of  the  wedding  was  over  I  should 
^have  been  so  fond  of  you  again — 

Edith  [petting  him]  Come,  come!  dont  make  a  scene, 
dear.  Youre  quite  right.  I  dont  think  a  woman  doing 
public  work  ought  to  get  married  unless  her  husband 
feels  about  it  as  she  does.  I  dont  blame  you  at  all  for 
throwing  me  over. 

Reginald  [bouncing  off  the  chest,  and  passing  behind 
the  General  to  the  other  end  of  the  table]  No:  dash  it! 
I'm  not  going  to  stand  this.  Why  is  the  man  always  to 
be  put  in  the  wrong?  Be  honest,  Edith.  Why  werent 
you  dressed?  Were  you  going  to  throw  him  over?  If 
you  were,  take  your  fair  share  of  the  blame;  and  dont 
put  it  all  on  him. 


Getting  Married  139 

Hotchkiss   [sweetly]     Would  it  not  be  better — 

Reginald  [violently]  Now  look  here,  Hotchkiss. 
Who  asked  you  to  cut  in?  Is  your  name  Edith?  Am  I 
your  uncle? 

Hotchkiss.  I  wish  you  were:  I  should  like  to  have 
an  uncle,  Reginald. 

Reginald.  Yah!  Sykes:  are  you  ready  to  marry 
Edith  or  are  you  not? 

Sykes.  Ive  already  said  that  I'm  quite  ready.  A 
promise  is  a  promise. 

Reginald.  We  dont  want  to  know  whether  a  prom- 
ise is  a  promise  or  not.  Cant  you  answer  yes  or  no  with- 
out spoiling  it  and  setting  Hotchkiss  here  grinning  like 
a  Cheshire  cat?  If  she  puts  on  her  veil  and  goes  to 
Church,  will  you  marry  her? 

Sykes.     Certainly.     Yes. 

Reginald.  Thats  all  right.  Now,  Edie,  put  on  your 
veil  and  off  with  you  to  the  church.  The  bridegroom's 
waiting.      [He  sits  down  at  the  table], 

Edith.  Is  it  understood  that  Slattox  and  Chinnery 
are  liars  and  thieves,  and  that  I  hope  by  next  Wednesday 
to  have  in  my  hands  conclusive  evidence  that  Slattox  is 
something  much  worse? 

Sykes.  I  made  no  conditions  as  to  that  when  I  pro- 
posed to  you;  and  now  I  cant  go  back.  I  hope  Provi- 
dence will  spare  my  poor  mother.  I  say  again  I'm  ready 
to  marry  you. 

Edith.  Then  I  think  you  shew  great  weakness  of 
character;  and  instead  of  taking  advantage  of  it  I  shall 
set  you  a  better  example.  I  want  to  know  is  this  true. 
[She  produces  a  pamphlet  and  takes  it  to  the  Bishop; 
then  sits  down  between  Hotchkiss  and  her  mother]. 

The  Bishop  [reading  the  title]     Do  you  know  what 

YOU  ARE   GOING  TO  DO?      By   A  WOMAN   WHO   HAS  DONE   IT. 

May  I  ask,  my  dear,  what  she  did? 

Edith.     She  got  married.     When  she  had  three  chil- 


140  Getting  Married 

dren — the  eldest  only  four  years  old — her  husband  com- 
mitted a  murder,  and  then  attempted  to  commit  suicide 
but  only  succeeded  in  disfiguring  himself.  Instead  of 
hanging  him,  they  sent  him  to  penal  servitude  for  life, 
for  the  sake,  they  said,  of  his  wife  and  infant  children. 
And  she  could  not  get  a  divorce  from  that  horrible  mur- 
derer. They  would  not  even  keep  him  imprisoned  for 
life.  For  twenty  years  she  had  to  live  singly,  bringing 
up  her  children  by  her  own  work,  and  knowing  that  just 
when  they  were  grown  up  and  beginning  life,  this  dread- 
ful creature  would  be  let  out  to  disgrace  them  all,  and 
prevent  the  two  girls  getting  decently  married,  and  drive 
the  son  out  of  the  country  perhaps.  Is  that  really  the 
law?  (Am  I  to  understand  that  if  Cecil  commits  a  mur- 
der, or  forges,  or  steals,  or  becomes  an  atheist,  I  cant  get 
divorced  from  him?^ 

The  Bishop.  Yes,  my  dear.  That  is  so.  You  must 
take  him  for  better  for  worse. 

Edith.  Then  I  most  certainly  refuse  to  enter  into 
any  such  wicked  contract.  What  sort  of  servants?  what 
sort  of  friends?  what  sort  of  Prime  Ministers  should  we 
have  if  we  took  them  for  better  for  worse  for  all  their 
lives?  We  should  simply  encourage  them  in  every  sort 
of  wickedness.  Surely  my  husband's  conduct  is  of  more 
importance  to  me  than  Mr  Balfour's  or  Mr  Asquith's. 
If  I  had  known  the  law  I  would  never  have  consented. 
I  dont  believe  any  woman  would  if  she  realized  what 
she  was  doing. 

Sykes.     But  I'm  not  going  to  commit  murder. 
Edith.     How  do  you  know?     Ive  sometimes  wanted 
to  murder  Slattox.     Have  ycu  rtvnv  wanted  to  murder 
somebody,  Uncle  Rejjy? 

Reginald    [at    Hotchkiss,    with    intense    expression] 
Yes. 

Leo.     Rejjy! 

Reginald.     I  said  yes;  and  I  mean  yes.  There  was 


Getting  Married  141 

one  night,  Hotchkiss,  when  I  jolly  near  shot  yon  and 
Leo  and  finished  up  with  myself;  and  thats  the  truth. 

Leo  [suddenly  whimpering]  Oh  Eejjy  [she  runs  to 
him  and  hisses  him], 

Reginald  [wrathfully]  Be  off.  [She  returns  weep- 
ing to  her  seat], 

Mrs  Bridgenorth  [petting  Leo,  but  speaking  to  the 
company  at  large]  But  isnt  all  this  great  nonsense? 
What  likelihood  is  there  of  any  of  us  committing  a 
crime  ? 

Hotchkiss.  Oh  yes,  I  assure  you.  I  went  into  the 
matter  once  very  carefully;  and  I  found  things  I 
have  actually  done — things  that  everybody  does,  I  im- 
agine— would  expose  me,  if  I  were  found  out  and  prose- 
cuted, to  ten  years'  penal  servitude,  two  years  hard 
labor,  and  the  loss  of  all  civil  rights.  Not  counting  that 
I'm  a  private  trustee,  and,  like  all  private  trustees,  a 
fraudulent  one.  Otherwise,  the  widow  for  whom  I  am 
trustee  would  starve  occasionally,  and  the  children  get 
no  education.  And  I'm  probably  as  honest  a  man  as 
any  here. 

The  General  [outraged[  Do  you  imply  that  I  have 
been  guilty  of  conduct  that  would  expose  me  to  penal 
servitude  ? 

Hotchkiss.  I  should  think  it  quite  likely.  But  of 
course  I  dont  know. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  But  bless  me !  marriage  is  not  a 
question  of  law,  is  it?  Have  you  children  no  affection 
for  one  another?    Surely  thats  enough? 

Hotchkiss.     If  it's  enough,  why  get  married? 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Stuff,  Sinjon!  Of  course  people 
must  get  married.  [Uneasily]  Alfred:  why  dont  you 
say  something?     Surely  youre  not  going  to  let  this  go  on. 

The  General.  Ive  been  waiting  for  the  last  twenty 
minutes,  Alfred,  in  amazement !  in  stupefaction !  to  hear 
you  put  a  stop  to  all  this.     We  look  to  you:  it's  your 


142  Getting  Married 

place,  your  office,  your  duty.  Exert  your  authority  at 
once. 

The  Bishop.  You  must  give  the  devil  fair  play, 
Boxer.  Until  you  have  heard  and  weighed  his  case  you 
have  no  right  to  condemn  him.  I'm  sorry  you  hav^  been 
kept  waiting  twenty  minutes;  but  I  myself  have  waited 
twenty  years  for  this  to  happen.  Ive  often  wrestled 
with  the  temptation  to  pray  that  it  might  not  happen  in 
my  own  household.  Perhaps  it  was  a  presentiment  that 
it  might  become  a  part  of  our  old  Bridgenorth  burden 
that  made  me  warn  our  Governments  so  earnestly  that 
unless  the  law  of  marriage  were  first  made  human,  it 
could  never  become  divine. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Oh,  do  be  sensible  about  this. 
People  must  get  married.  What  would  you  have  said  if 
Cecil's  parents  had  not  been  married? 

The  Bishop.     They  were  not,  my  dear. 


Hotchkiss. 

Reginald. 

The  General. 

Leo. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth. 


>< 


j  v. 


Hallo ! 

What  d'ye  mean? 

Eh? 

Not  married! 

What! 


Sykes  [rising  in  amazement]  What  on  earth  do  you 
mean,  Bishop?     My  parents  were  married. 

Hotchkiss.     You  cant  remember,  Cecil. 

Sykes.  Well,  I  never  asked  my  mother  to  shew  me 
her  marriage  lines,  if  thats  what  you  mean.  What  man 
ever  has?  I  never  suspected — I  never  knew — Are  you 
joking?     Or  have  we  all  gone  mad? 

The  Bishop.  Dont  be  alarmed,  Cecil.  Let  me  ex- 
plain. Your  parents  were  not  Anglicans.  You  were 
not,  I  think,  Anglican  yourself,  until  your  second  year  at 
Oxford.  They  were  Positivists.  They  went  through  the 
Positivist  ceremony  at  Newton  Hall  in  Fetter  Lane  after 
entering  into  the  civil  contract  before  the  Registrar  of 


Getting  Married  143 

the  West  Strand  District.  I  ask  you,  as  an  Anglican 
Catholic,  was  that  a  marriage? 

Sykes  [overwhelmed]  Great  Heavens,  no!  a  thou- 
sand times,  no.  I  never  thought  of  that.  I'm  a  child 
of  sin.     [He  collapses  into  the  railed  chair]. 

The  Bishop.  Oh,  come,  come !  You  are  no  more  a 
child  of  sin  than  any  Jew,  or  Mohammedan,  or  Noncon- 
formist, or  anyone  else  born  outside  the  Church.  But 
you  see  how  it  affects  my  view  of  the  situation.  To  me 
there  is  only  one  marriage  that  is  holy:  the  Church's  sac- 
rament of  marriage.  Outside  that}  I  can  recognize  no 
distinction  between  one  civil  contract  and  another. 
There  was  a  time  when  all  marriages  were  made  in 
Heaven.  But  because  the  Church  was  unwise  and  would 
not  make  its  ordinances  reasonable,  its  power  over  men 
and  women  was  taken  away  from  it;  and  marriages  gave 
place  to  contracts  at  a  registry  office.  And  now  that  our 
Governments  refuse  to  make  these  contracts  reasonable, 
those  whom  we  in  our  blindness  drove  out  of  the  Church 
will  be  driven  out  of  the  registry  office;  and  we  shall 
have  the  history  of  Ancient  Rome  repeated.  We  shall  be 
joined  by  our  solicitors  for  seven,  fourteen,  or  twenty- 
one  years — or  perhaps  months.  Deeds  of  partnership 
will  replace  the  old  vows. 

The  General.  Would  you,  a  Bishop,  approve  of 
such  partnerships? 

The  Bishop.  Do  you  think  that  I,  a  Bishop,  approve 
of  the  Deceased  Wife's  Sister  Act?  That  did  not  pre- 
vent its  becoming  law. 

The  General.  But  when  the  Government  sounded 
you  as  to  whether  youd  marry  a  man  to  his  deceased 
wife's  sister  you  very  naturally  and  properly  told  them 
youd  see  them  damned  first. 

The  Bishop  [horrified]  No,  no,  really,  Boxer!  You 
must  not — 

The  General    [impatiently]      Oh,  of  course   I   dont 


144  Getting  Married 

mean  that  vou  used  those  words.  But  that  was  the 
meaning  and  the  spirit  of  it. 

The  Bishop.  Not  the  spirit,  Boxer,  I  protest.  But 
never  mind  that.  The  point  is  that  State  marriage  is 
already  divorced  from  Church  marriage.  The  relations 
between  Leo  and  Rejjy  and  Sinjon  are  perfectly  legal; 
but  do  you  expect  me,  as  a  Bishop,  to  approve  of  them? 

The  General.  I  dont  defend  Reginald.  He  should 
have  kicked  you  out  of  the  house,  Mr.  Hotchkiss. 

Reginald  [ming]  How  could  I  kick  him  out  of  the 
house?  He's  stronger  than  me:  he  could  have  kicked  me 
out  if  it  came  to  that.  He  did  kick  me  out:  what  else 
was  it  but  kicking  out,  to  take  my  wife's  affections  from 
me  and  establish  himself  in  my  place?  [He  comes  to 
the  hearth], 

Hotchkiss.  I  protest,  Reginald,  I  said  all  that  a 
man  could  to  prevent  the  smash. 

Reginald.  Oh,  I  know  you  did:  I  dont  blame  you: 
people  dont  do  these  things  to  one  another:  they  happen 
and  they  cant  be  helped.  What  was  I  to  do  ?  I  was  old : 
she  was  young.  I  was  dull:  he  was  brilliant.  I  had  a 
face  like  a  walnut:  he  had  a  face  like  a  mushroom.  I 
was  as  glad  to  have  him  in  the  house  as  she  was:  he 
amused  me.  And  we  were  a  couple  of  fools:  he  gave 
us  good  advice — told  us  what  to  do  when  we  didnt  know. 
She  found  out  that  I  wasnt  any  use  to  her  and  he  was; 
so  she  nabbed  him  and  gave  me  the  chuck. 

Leo.  If  you  dont  stop  talking  in  that  disgraceful 
way  about  our  married  life,  I'll  leave  the  room  and  never 
speak  to  you  again. 

Reginald.  Youre  not  going  to  speak  to  me  again, 
anyhow,  are  you?  Do  you  suppose  I'm  going  to  visit 
you  when  you  marry  him  ? 

Hotchkiss.  I  hope  so.  Surely  youre  not  going  to  be 
vindictive,  Rejjy.  Besides,  youll  have  all  the  advan- 
tages I  formerly  enjoyed.     Youll  be  the  visitor,  the  re- 


Getting  Married  145 

lief,  the  new  face,  the  fresh  news,  the  hopeless  attach- 
ment: I  shall  only  he  the  husband. 

Reginald  [savagely]  Will  you  tell  me  this,  any  of 
you?  how  is  it  that  we  always  get  talking  about  Hotch- 
kiss when  our  business  is  about  Edith?  [He  fumes  up 
the  kitchen  to  the  tower  and  back  to  his  chair], 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Will  somebody  tell  me  how  the 
world  is  to  go  on  if  nobody  is  to  get  married? 

Sykes.  Will  somebody  tell  me  what  an  honorable 
man  and  a  sincere  Anglican  is  to  propose  to  a  woman 
whom  he  loves  and  who  loves  him  and  wont  marry  him? 

Leo.  Will  somebody  tell  me  how  I'm  to  arrange  to 
take  care  of  Rejjy  when  I'm  married  to  Sinjon.  Rejjy 
must  not  be  allowed  to  marry  anyone  else,  especially 
that  odious  nasty  creature  that  told  all  those  wicked  lies 
about  him  in  Court.. 

Hotchkiss.  Let  us  draw  up  the  first  English  part- 
nership deed. 

Leo.     For  shame,  Sinjon! 

The  Bishop.  Somebody  must  begin,  my  dear.  Ive 
a  very  strong  suspicion  that  when  it  is  drawn  up  it  will 
be  so  much  worse  than  the  existing  law  that  you  will  all 
prefer  getting  married.  We  shall  therefore  be  doing 
the  greatest  possible  service  to  morality  by  just  trying 
how  the  new  system  would  work. 

Lesbia  [suddenly  reminding  them  of  her  forgotten 
presence  as  she  stands  thoughtfully  in  the  garden  door- 
way]     Ive  been  thinking. 

The  Bishop  [to  Hotchkiss]  Nothing  like  making 
people  think:  is  there,  Sinjon? 

Lesbia  [coming  to  the  table,  on  the  General* s  left] 
A  woman  has  no  right  to  refuse  motherhood.  That  is 
clear,  after  the  statistics  given  in  The  Times  by  Mr  Sid- 
ney Webb. 

The  General.  Mr  Webb  has  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
It  is  the  Voice  of  Nature. 


146  Getting  Married 

Lesbia.  But  if  she  is  an  English  lady  it  is  her  right 
and  her  duty  to  stand  out  for  honorable  conditions.  If 
we  can  agree  on  the  conditions,  I  am  willing  to  enter 
into  an  alliance  with  Boxer. 

The  General  staggers  to  his  feet,  momentarily  stupent 
and  speechless, 

Edith   [rising]     And  I  with  Cecil. 

Leo  [rising]     And  I  with  Rejjy  and  St  John. 

The  General  [aghast]  An  alliance!  Do  you  mean 
a — a — a — 

Reginald.  She  only  means  bigamy,  as  I  understand 
her. 

The  General.  Alfred:  how  long  more  are  you 
going  to  stand  there  and  countenance  this  lunacy? 
Is  it  a  horrible  dream  or  am  I  awake?  In  the  name 
of  common  sense  and  sanity,  let  us  go  back  to  real 
life— 

Collins  comes  in  through  the  tower,  in  alderman's 
robes.  The  ladies  who  are  standing  sit  down  hastily,  and 
look  as  unconcerned  as  possible. 

Collins.  Sorry  to  hurry  you,  my  lord;  but  the 
Church  has  been  full  this  hour  past;  and  the  organist 
has  played  all  the  wedding  music  in  Lohengrin  three 
times  over. 

The  General.  The  very  man  we  want.  Alfred: 
I'm  not  equal  to  this  crisis.  You  are  not  equal  to  it. 
The  Army  has  failed.  The  Church  has  failed.  I  shall 
put  aside  all  idle  social  distinctions  and  appeal  to  the 
Municipality. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Do,  Boxer.  He  is  sure  to  get 
us  out  of  this  difficulty. 

Collins,  a  little  puzzled,  comes  forward  affably  to 
Hotchhiss's  left. 

Hotchkiss  [rising,  impressed  by  the  aldermanic 
gown]  Ive  not  had  the  pleasure.  Will  you  introduce 
me? 


Getting  Married  147 

Collins  [confidentially]  All  right,  sir.  Only  the 
greengrocer,  sir,  in  charge  of  the  wedding  breakfast. 
Mr  Alderman  Collins,  sir,  when  I'm  in  my  gown. 

Hotchkiss  [staggered]  Very  pleased  indeed  [he  sits 
down  again]. 

The  Bishop.  Personally  I  value  the  counsel  of  my 
old  friend,  Mr  Alderman  Collins,  very  highly.  If  Edith 
and  Cecil  will  allow  him — 

Edith.  Collins  has  known  me  from  my  childhood:  I'm 
sure  he  will  agree  with  me. 

Collins.  Yes,  miss:  you  may  depend  on  me  for  that. 
Might  I  ask  what  the  difficulty  is? 

Edith.  Simply  this.  Do  you  expect  me  to  get  mar- 
ried in  the  existing  state  of  the  law  ? 

Sykes  [rising  and  coming  to  Collin*s  left  elbow]  I 
put  it  to  you  as  a  sensible  man:  is  it  any  worse  for  her 
than  for  me? 

Reginald  [leaving  his  place  and  thrusting  himself 
between  Collins  and  Sykes,  who  returns  to  his  chair] 
Thats  not  the  point.  Let  this  be  understood,  Mr  Collins. 
It's  not  the  man  who  is  backing  out:  it's  the  woman. 
[He  posts  himself  on  the  hearth], 

Lesbia.  We  do  not  admit  that,  Collins.  The  women 
are  perfectly  ready  to  make  a  reasonable  arrangement. 

Leo.     With  both  men. 

The  General.  The  case  is  now  before  you,  Mr  Col- 
lins. And  I  put  it  to  you  as  one  man  to  another :  did  you 
ever  hear  such  crazy  nonsense? 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  The  world  must  go  on,  mustnt 
it,  Collins? 

Collins  [snatching  at  this,  the  first  intelligible  propo- 
sition he  has  heard]  Oh,  the  world  will  go  on,  maam: 
dont  you  be  afraid  of  that.  It  aint  so  easy  to  stop  it  as 
the  earnest  kind  of  people  think. 

Edith.  I  knew  you  would  agree  with  me,  Collins. 
Thank  you. 


148  Getting  Married 

Hotchkiss.  Have  you  the  least  idea  of  what  they 
are  talking  about,  Mr  Alderman? 

Collins.  Oh,  thats  all  right,  sir.  The  particulars 
dont  matter.  I  never  read  the  report  of  a  Committee: 
after  all,  what  can  they  say  that  you  dont  know?  You 
pick  it  up  as  they  go  on  talking.  \He  goes  to  the  corner 
of  the  table  and  speaks  across  it  to  the  company].  Well, 
my  Lord  and  Miss  Edith  and  Madam  and  Gentlemen, 
it's  like  this.  Marriage  is  tolerable  enough  in  its  way 
if  youre  easygoing  and  dont  expect  too  much  from  it. 
But  it  doesnt  bear  thinking  about.  The  great  thing  is 
to  get  the  young  people  tied  up  before  they  know  what 
theyre  letting  themselves  in  for.  Theres  Miss  Lesbia 
now.  She  waited  till  she  started  thinking  about  it;  and 
then  it  was  all  over.  If  you  once  start  arguing,  Miss 
Edith  and  Mr  Sykes,  youll  never  get  married.  Go  and 
get  married  first:  youll  have  plenty  of  arguing  after- 
wards, miss,  believe  me. 

Hotchkiss.  Your  warning  comes  too  late.  Theyve 
started  arguing  already. 

The  General.  But  you  dont  take  in  the  full — well, 
I  dont  wish  to  exaggerate;  but  the  only  word  I  can  find 
is  the  full  horror  of  the  situation.  These  ladies  not  only 
refuse  our  honorable  offers,  but  as  I  understand  it — and 
I'm  sure  I  beg  your  pardon  most  heartily,  Lesbia,  if  I'm 
wrong,  as  I  hope  I  am — they  actually  call  on  us  to  enter 
into — I'm  sorry  to  use  the  expression;  but  what  can  I 
say? — into  alliances  with  them  under  contracts  to  be 
drawn  up  by  our  confounded  solicitors. 

Collins.  Dear  me,  General:  thats  something  new 
when  the  parties  belong  to  the  same  class. 

The  Bishop.  Not  new,  Collins.  The  Romans 
did  it. 

Collins.  Yes:  they  would,  them  Romans.  When 
youre  in  Rome  do  as  the  Romans  do,  is  an  old  saying. 
But  we're  not  in  Rome  at  present,  my  lord. 


Getting  Married  149 

The  Bishop.  We  have  got  into  many  of  their  ways. 
What  do  you  think  of  the  contract  system,  Collins? 

Collins.  Well,  my  lord,  when  theres  a  question  of 
a  contract,  I  always  say,  shew  it  to  me  on  paper.  If  it's 
to  be  talk,  let  it  be  talk ;  but  if  it's  to  be  a  contract,  down 
with  it  in  black  and  white;  and  then  we  shall  know  what 
we're  about. 

Hotchkiss.  Quite  right,  Mr  Alderman.  Let  us 
draft  it  at  once.  May  I  go  into  the  study  for  writing 
materials,  Bishop? 

The  Bishop.     Do,  Sin j  on. 

Hotchkiss  goes  into  the  library. 

Collins.     If  I  might  point  out  a  difficulty,  my  lord — 

The  Bishop.  Certainly.  [He  goes  to  the  fourth 
chair  from  the  General's  left,  but  before  sitting  down, 
courteously  points  to  the  chair  at  the  end  of  the  table 
next  the  hearth].  Wont  you  sit  down,  Mr  Alderman? 
[Collins,  very  appreciative  of  the  Bishop's  distinguished 
consideration,  sits  down.  The  Bishop  then  takes  his 
seat], 

Collins.  We  are  at  present  six  men  to  four  ladies. 
Thats  not  fair. 

Reginald.     Not  fair  to  the  men,  you  mean. 

Leo.  Oh!  Rejjy  has  said  something  clever!  Can  I 
be  mistaken  in  him? 

Hotchkiss  comes  back  with  a  blotter  and  some  paper. 
He  takes  the  vacant  place  in  the  middle  of  the  table  be- 
tween Lesbia  and  the  Bishop. 

Collins.  I  tell  you  the  truth,  my  lord  and  ladies  and 
gentlemen:  I  dont  trust  my  judgment  on  this  subject. 
Theres  a  certain  lady  that  I  always  consult  on  delicate 
points  like  this.  She  has  a  very  exceptional  experience, 
and  a  wonderful  temperament  and  instinct  in  affairs  of 
the  heart. 

Hotchkiss.  Excuse  me,  Mr  Alderman:  I'm  a  snob; 
and  I  warn  you  that  theres  no  use  consulting  anyone  who 


! 


150  Getting  Married 

will  not  advise  us  frankly  on  class  lines.  Marriage  is 
good  enough  for  the  lower  classes.;  .they  have  facilities 
for  desertion  that  are  denied  to  us.  What  is  the  social 
position  of  this  lady? 

Collins.  The  highest  in  the  borough,  sir.  She  is 
the  Mayoress.  But  you  need  not  stand  in  awe  of  her, 
sir.  She  is  my  sister-in-law.  [To  the  Bishop]  Ive 
often  spoken  of  her  to  your  lady,  my  lord.  [To  Mrs 
Bridgenorth]     Mrs  George,  maam. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth  [startled]  Do  you  mean  to  say, 
Collins,  that  Mrs  George  is  a  real  person? 

Collins  [equally  startled]  Didnt  you  believe  in  her, 
maam? 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Never  for  a  moment. 
The  Bishop.  We  always  thought  that  Mrs  George 
was  too  good  to  be  true.  I  still  dont  believe  in  her,  Col- 
lins. You  must  produce  her  if  you  are  to  convince  me. 
Collins  [overwhelmed]  Well,  I'm  so  taken  aback  by 
this  that — Well  I  never  !  !  !  Why!  shes  at  the  church 
at  this  moment,  waiting  to  see  the  wedding. 

The  Bishop.     Then  produce  her.     [Collins  shakes  his 

head].     Come,  Collins!  confess.     Theres  no  such  person. 

Collins.     There  is,  my  lord:  there  is,  I  assure  you. 

You  ask  George.     It's  true  /  cant  produce  her;  but  you 

can,  my  lord. 

The  Bishop.     I! 

Collins.  Yes,  my  lord,  you.  For  some  reason  that  I 
never  could  make  out,  she  has  forbidden  me  to  talk  about 
you,  or  to  let  her  meet  you.  Ive  asked  her  to  come  here 
of  a  wedding  morning  to  help  with  the  flowers  or  the 
like;  and  she  has  always  refused.  But  if  you  order  her 
to  come  as  her  Bishop,  she'll  come.  She  has  some  very 
strange  fancies,  has  Mrs  George.  Send  your  ring  to 
her,  my  lord — the  official  ring — send  it  by  some  very 
stylish  gentleman — perhaps  Mr  Hotchkiss  here  would  be 
good  enough  to  take  it — and  she'll  come. 


Getting  Married  151 

The  Bishop  [taking  off  his  ring  and  handing  it  to 
Hotchkiss]     Oblige  me  by  undertaking  the  mission. 

Hotchkiss.     But  how  am  I  to  know  the  lady? 

Collins.  She  has  gone  to  the  church  in  state,  sir, 
and  will  be  attended  by  a  Beadle  with  a  mace.  He  will 
point  her  out  to  you;  and  he  will  take  the  front  seat  of 
the  carriage  on  the  way  back. 

Hotchkiss.  No,  by  heavens!  Forgive  me,  Bishop; 
but  you  are  asking  too  much.  I  ran  away  from  the 
Boers  because  I  was  a  snob.  I  run  away  from  the 
Beadle  for  the  same  reason.  I  absolutely  decline  the 
mission. 

The  General  [rising  impressively]  Be  good  enough 
to  give  me  that  ring,  Mr  Hotchkiss. 

Hotchkiss.     With  pleasure.      [He  hands  it  to  him]. 

The  General.  I  shall  have  the  great  pleasure,  Mr 
Alderman,  in  waiting  on  the  Mayoress  with  the  Bishop's 
orders;  and  I  shall  be  proud  to  return  with  municipal 
honors.  [He  stalks  out  gallantly,  Collins  rising  for  a 
moment  to  bow  to  him  with  marked  dignity]. 

Reginald.  Boxer  is  rather  a  fine  old  josser  in  his 
way. 

Hotchkiss.  His  uniform  gives  him  an  unfair  ad- 
vantage. He  will  take  all  the  attention  off  the 
Beadle. 

Collins.  I  think  it  would  be  as  well,  my  lord,  to  go 
on  with  the  contract  while  we're  waiting.  The  truth  is, 
we  shall  none  of  us  have  much  of  a  look-in  when  Mrs 
George  comes ;  so  we  had  better  finish  the  writing  part  of 
the  business  before  she  arrives. 

Hotchkiss.  I  think  I  have  the  preliminaries  down 
all  right.  [Reading]  '  Memorandum  of  Agreement 
made  this  day  of  blank  blank  between  blank  blank  of 
blank  blank  in  the  County  of  blank,  Esquire,  hereinafter 
called  the  Gentleman,  of  the  one  part,  and  blank  blank 
of  blank  in  the  County  of  blank,  hereinafter  called  the 


152  Getting  Married 

Lady,  of  tl  e  other  part,  whereby  it  is  declared  and  agreed 
as  follows.' 

Leo  [rising]  You  might  remember  your  manners, 
Sin j on.  The  lady  comes  first.  [She  goes  behind  him 
and  stoops  to  look  at  the  draft  over  his  shoulder]. 

Hotchkiss.  To  be  sure.  I  beg  your  pardon.  [He 
alters  the  draft], 

Leo.  And  you  have  got  only  one  lady  and  one  gen- 
tleman.    There  ought  to  be  two  gentlemen. 

Collins.  Oh,  thats  a  mere  matter  of  form,  maam. 
Any  number  of  ladies  or  gentlemen  can  be  put  in. 

Leo.  Not  any  number  of  ladies.  Only  one  lady. 
Besides,  that  creature  wasnt  a  lady. 

Reginald.  You  shut  your  head,  Leo.  This  is  a  gen- 
eral sort  of  contract  for  everybody:  it's  not  your  con- 
tract. 

Leo.     Then  what  use  is  it  to  me? 

Hotchkiss.  You  will  get  some  hints  from  it  for  your 
own  contract. 

Edith.  I  hope  there  will  be  no  hinting.  Let  us  have 
the  plain  straightforward  truth  and  nothing  but  the 
truth. 

Collins.  Yes,  yes,  miss :  it  will  be  all  right.  Theres 
nothing  underhand,  I  assure  you.  It's  a  model  agree- 
ment, as  it  were. 

Edith   [unconvinced]      I  hope  so. 

Hotchkiss.  What  is  the  first  clause  in  an  agreement, 
usually?     You  know,  Mr  Alderman. 

Collins  [at  a  loss]  Well,  sir,  the  Town  Clerk  always 
sees  to  that.  Ive  got  out  of  the  habit  of  thinking  for 
myself  in  these  little  matters.  Perhaps  his  lordship 
knows. 

The  Bishop.  I'm  sorry  to  say  I  dont.  But  Soames 
will  know.     Alice,  where  is  Soames? 

Hotchkiss.     He's  in  there  [pointing  to  the  study]. 

The  Bishop  [to  his  wife]     Coax  him  to  join  us,  my 


Getting  Married  153 

love.  [Mrs  Bridgenorth  goes  into  the  study}.  Soames 
is  my  chaplain,  Mr  Collins.  The  great  difficulty  about 
Bishops  in  the  Church  of  England  to-day  is  that  the  af- 
fairs of  the  diocese  moke  it  necessary  that  a  Bishop 
should  be  before  everything  a  man  of  business,  capable 
of  sticking  to  his  desk  for  sixteen  hours  a  day.  But  the 
result  of  having  Bishops  of  this  sort  is  that  the  spiritual 
interests  of  the  Church,  and  its  influence  on  the  souls 
and  imaginations  of  the  people,  very  soon  begins  to  go 
rapidly  to  the  devil — 

Edith  [shocked]     Papa! 

The  Bishop.  I  am  speaking  technically,  not  in  Box- 
er's manner.  Indeed  the  Bishops  themselves  went  so  far 
in  that  direction  that  they  gained  a  reputation  for  being 
spiritually  the  stupidest  men  in  the  country  and  commer- 
cially the  sharpest.  I  found  a  way  out  of  this  difficulty. 
Soames  was  my  solicitor.  I  found  that  Soames,  though  a 
very  capable  man  of  business,  had  a  romantic  secret  his- 
tory. His  father  was  an  eminent  Nonconformist  divine 
who  habitually  spoke  of  the  Church  of  England  as  The 
Scarlet  Woman.  Soames  became  secretly  converted  to 
Anglicanism  at  the  age  of  fifteen.  He  longed  to  take 
holy  orders,  but  didnt  dare  to,  because  his  father  had  a 
weak  heart  and  habitually  threatened  to  drop  dead  if 
anybody  hurt  his  feelings.  You  may  have  noticed  that 
people  with  weak  hearts  are  the  tyrants  of  English  fam- 
ily life.  So  poor  Soames  had  to  become  a  solicitor. 
When  his  father  died — by  a  curious  stroke  of  poetic  jus- 
tice he  died  of  scarlet  fever,  and  was  found  to  have  had 
a  perfectly  sound  heart — I  ordained  Soames  and  made 
him  my  chaplain.  He  is  now  quite  happy.  He  is  a  celi- 
bate; fasts  strictly  on  Fridays  and  throughout  Lent; 
wears  a  cassock  and  biretta ;  and  has  more  legal  business 
to  do  than  ever  he  had  in  his  old  office  in  Ely  Place. 
And  he  sets  me  free  for  the  spiritual  and  scholarly  pur- 
suits proper  to  a  Bishop. 


154  Getting  Married 

Mrs  Bridgenorth  [coining  back  from  the  study  rvith 
a  knitting  basket]  Here  he  is.  [She  resumes  her  seat, 
and  knits], 

Soames  comes  in  in  cassock  and  biretta.  He  salutes 
the  company  by  blessing  them  with  two  fingers. 

Hotchkiss.  Take  my  place,  Mr  Soames.  [He  gives 
up  his  chair  to  him,  and  retires  to  the  oak  chest,  on  which 
he  seats  himself]. 

The  Bishop.  No  longer  Mr  Soames,  Sin j on.  Father 
Anthony. 

Soames  [taking  his  seat]  I  was  christened  Oliver 
Cromwell  Soames.  My  father  had  no  right  to  do  it.  I 
have  taken  the  name  of  Anthony.  When  you  become 
parents,  young  gentlemen,  be  very  careful  not  to  label 
a  helpless  child  with  views  which  it  may  come  to  hold  in 
abhorrence. 

The  Bishop.  Has  Alice  explained  to  you  the  nature 
of  the  document  we  are  drafting? 

Soames.     She  has  indeed.         ' 

Lesbia.     That  sounds  as  if  you  disapproved. 

Soames.  It  is  not  for  me  to  approve  or  disapprove. 
I  do  the  work  that  comes  to  my  hand  from  my  ecclesias- 
tical superior. 

The  Bishop.  Dont  be  uncharitable,  Anthony.  You 
must  give  us  your  best  advice. 

Soames.  My  advice  to  you  all  is  to  do  your  duty  by 
taking  the  Christian  vows  of  celibacy  and  poverty.  The 
Church  was  founded  to  put  an  end  to  marriage  and  to 
put  an  end  to  property. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  But  how  could  the  world  go  on, 
Anthony  ? 

Soames.  Do  your  duty  and  see.  Doing  your  duty  is 
your  business:  keeping  the  world  going  is  in  higher 
hands. 

Lesbia.     Anthony:  youre  impossible. 

Soames  [taking  up  his  pen]     You  wont  take  my  ad- 


Getting  M^S^i^^^V- 

MTV*"  K*^^ 

vice.  I  didnt  expect  you  would.  Well,  I  await  your 
instructions. 

Reginald.  We  got  stuck  on  the  first  clause.  What 
should  we  begin  with? 

Soames.  It  is  usual  to  begin  with  the  term  of  the 
contract. 

Edith.     What  does  that  mean? 

Soames.  The  term  of  years  for  which  it  is  to  hold 
good. 

Leo.     But  this  is  a  marriage  contract. 

Soames.  Is  the  marriage  to  be  for  a  year,  a  week,  or 
a  day? 

Reginald.  Come,  I  say,  Anthony!  Youre  worse 
than  any  of  us.    A  day ! 

Soames.  Off  the  path  is  off  the  path.  An  inch  or  a 
mile:  what  does  it  matter? 

Leo.  If  the  marriage  is  not  to  be  for  ever,  I'll  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  I  call  it  immoral  to  have  a  mar- 
riage for  a  term  of  years.  If  the  people  dont  like  it  they 
can  get  divorced. 

Reginald.  It  ought  to  be  for  just  as  long  as  the  two 
people  like.     Thats  what  I  say. 

Collins.  They  may  not  agree  on  the  point,  sir.  It's 
often  fast  with  one  and  loose  with  the  other. 

Lesbia.  I  should  say  for  as  long  as  the  man  behaves 
himself. 

The  Bishop.  Suppose  the  woman  doesnt  behave  her- 
self? 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  The  woman  may  have  lost  all 
her  chances  of  a  good  marriage  with  anybody  else.  She 
should  not  be  cast  adrift. 

Reginald.  So  may  the  man !  What  about  his 
home? 

Leo.  The  wife  ought  to  keep  an  eye  on  him,  and  see 
that  he  is  comfortable  and  takes  care  of  himself  properly. 
The  other  man  wont  want  her  all  the  time. 


^ 

>: 


.^•156  Getting  Married 

Lesbia.     There  may  not  be  another  man. 
Leo.     Then  why  on  earth  should  she  leave  him? 
Lesbia.     Because  she  wants  to. 

Leo.  Oh,  if  people  are  going  to  be  let  do  what  they 
want  to,  then  I  call  it  simple  immorality.  [She  goes 
indignantly  to  the  oak  chest,  and  perches  herself  on  it 
close  beside  Hotchkiss], 

Reginald  [watching  them  sourly]  You  do  it  your- 
self, dont  you? 

Leo.  Oh,  thats  quite  different.  Dont  make  foolish 
witticisms,  Rejjy. 

The  Bishop.  We  dont  seem  to  be  getting  on.  What 
do  you  say,  Mr  Alderman? 

Collins.     Well,  my  lord,  you  see  people  do  persist  in 
y      /  talking  as  if  marriages  was  all  of  one  sort.     But  theres 
*^    /     almost  as  many  different  sorts  of  marriages  as  theres  dif- 
ferent sorts  of  people.     Theres  the  young  things  that 
\     marry  for  love,  not  knowing  what  theyre  doing,  and  the 
\  old  things  that  marry  for  money  and  comfort  and  com- 
•panionship.     Theres  the  people  that  marry  for  children. 
)  Theres  the  people  that  dont  intend  to  have  children  and 
/  that  arnt  fit  to  have  them.     Theres  the  people  that  marry 
/  because  theyre  so  much  run  after  by  the  other  sex  that 
^n  they  have  to  put  a  stop  to  it  somehow:     Theres  the  peo- 
ple that  want  to  try  a  new  experience,  and  the  people 
/that  want  to  have  done  with  experiences.     How  are  you 
/  to  please  them  all?     Why,  youll  want  half  a  dozen  dif- 
j     ferent  sorts  of  contract. 

•.        The  Bishop.     Well,  if  so,  let  us  draw  them  all  up. 
\* Let  us  face  it. 

Reginald.  Why  should  we  be  held  togeijier  whether 
we  like  it  or  not?  Thats  the  question  thats  at  the  bottom 
of  it  all. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.     Because  of  the  children,  Rejjy. 

Collins.     But  even  then,  maam,  why  should  we  be 

held  together  when  thats  all  over — when  the  girls  are 


Getting  Married  157 

married  and  the  boys  out  in  the  world  and  in  business 
for  themselves  ?  When  thats  done  with,  the  real  work  of 
the  marriage  is  done  with.  If  the  two  like  to  stay  to- 
gether, let  them  stay  together.  But  if  not,  let  them  part, 
as  old  people  in  the  workhouses  do.  Theyve  had  enough 
of  one  another.  Theyve  found  one  another  out.  Why 
should  they  be  tied  together  to  sit  there  grudging 
and  hating  and  spiting  one  another  like  so  many  do? 
Put  it  twenty  years  from  the  birth  of  the  youngest 
child. 

Soames.     How  if  there  be  no  children? 

Collins.     Let  em  take  one  another  on  liking. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.     Collins! 

Leo.     You  wicked  old  man ! 

The  Bishop  [remonstrating]     My  dear,  my  dear! 

Lesbia.  And  what  is  a  woman  to  live  on,  pray,  when 
she  is  no  longer  liked,  as  you  call  it? 

Soames  [with  sardonic  formality]  It  is  proposed  that 
the  term  of  the  agreement  be  twenty  years  from  the  birth 
of  the  youngest  child  when  there  are  children.  Any 
amendment  ? 

Leo.  I  protest.  It  must  be  for  life.  It  would  not 
be  a  marriage  at  all  if  it  were  not  for  life. 

Soames.  Mrs  Reginald  Bridgenorth  proposes  life. 
Any  seconder? 

Leo.     Dont  be  soulless,  Anthony. 

Lesbia.  I  have  a  very  important  amendment.  If 
there  are  any  children,  the  man  must  be  cleared  com- 
pletely out  of  the  house  for  two  years  on  each  occasion. 
At  such  times  he  is  superfluous,  importunate,  and  ri- 
diculous. 

Collins.     But  where  is  he  to  go,  miss  ? 

Lesbia.  He  can  go  where  he  likes  as  long  as  he  does 
not  bother  the  mother. 

Reginald.     And  is  she  to  be  left  lonely — 

Lesbia.     Lonely!     With  her  child.    The  poor  woman 


■> 


158  Getting  Married 

would  be   only  too  glad  to  have  a  moment  to  herself. 
Dont  be  absurd,  Rejjy. 

Reginald.  That  father  is  to  be  a  wandering 
wretched  outcast,  living  at  his  club,  and  seeing  nobody 
but  his  friends'  wives! 

Lesbia   [ironically]      Poor  fellow! 
/Hotchkiss.     The  friends'  wives  are  perhaps  the  solu- 
y4ion  of  the  problem.     You  see,  their  husbands  will  also 
/    be  outcasts;  and  the  poor  ladies  will  occasionally  pine 
V.    for  male  society. 

/**'  Lesbia.     There  is  no  reason  why  a  mother  should  not 
\    >have  male  society.     What  she  clearly  should  not  have  is 
\a  husband. 

Soames.     Anything  else,  Miss  Grantham? 

x  \/"     Lesbia.     Yes :  I  must  have  my  own  separate  house,  or 

,>\(    my  own  separate  part  of  a  house.     Boxer  smokes :  I  cant 

»     \  endure  tobacco.      Boxer  believes  that   an   open  window 

^J  means  death  from  cold  and  exposure  to  the  night  air:  I 

)  must  have  fresh  air  always.     We  can  be  friends;  but  we 

I  cant  live  together;  and  that  must  be  put  in  the  agree- 

/       ment. 

Edith.  Ive  no  objection  to  smoking;  and  as  to  open- 
ing the  windows,  Cecil  will  of  course  have  to  do  what  is 
best  for  his  health. 

The  Bishop.  Who  is  to  be  the  judge  of  that,  my 
dear?     You  or  he? 

Edith.  Neither  of  us.  We  must  do  what  the  doctor 
orders. 

Reginald.     Doctor  be — ! 
Leo  [admonitorily]     Rejjy! 

Reginald  [to  Soames]  You  take  my  tip,  Anthony. 
Put  a  clause  into  that  agreement  that  the  doctor  is  to 
have  no  say  in  the  job.  It's  bad  enough  for  the  two  peo- 
ple to  be  married  to  one  another  without  their  both  being 
married  to  the  doctor  as  well. 

Lesbia.     That  reminds  me  of  something  very  impor- 


f 


Getting  Married  159 

tant.  Boxer  believes  in  vaccinnation :  I  do  not.  There 
must  be  a  clause  that  I  am  to  decide  on  such  questions 
as  I  think  best. 

Leo  [to  the  Bishop]     Baptism  is  nearly  as  important 
as  vaccination:  isnt  it? 

The  Bishop.     It  used  to  be  considered  so,  my  dear. 

Leo.  Well,  Sin j on  scoffs  at  it:  he  says  that  god- 
fathers are  ridiculous.     I  must  be  allowed  to  decide. 

Reginald.  Theyll  be  his  children  as  well  as  yours, 
you  know. 

Leo.     Dont  be  indelicate,  Rejjy. 

Edith.  You  are  forgetting  the  very  important  matter 
of  money. 

Collins.    Ah !     Money !    Now  we're  coming  to  it ! 

Edith.  When  I'm  married  I  shall  have  practically  no 
money  except  what  I  shall  earn. 

The  Bishop.  I'm  sorry,  Cecil.  A  Bishop's  daughter 
is  a  poor  man's  daughter. 

Sykes.  But  surely  you  dont  imagine  that  I'm  going 
to  let  Edith  work  when  we're  married.  I'm  not  a  rich 
man;  but  Ive  enough  to  spare  her  that;  and  when  my 
mother  dies — 

Edith.  What  nonsense!  Of  course  I  shall  work 
when  I'm  married.     I  shall  keep  your  house. 

Sykes.     Oh,  that! 

Reginald.     You  call  that  work? 

Edith.  Dont  you  ?  Leo  used  to  do  it  for  nothing; 
so  no  doubt  you  thought  it  wasnt  work  at  all.  Does  your 
present  housekeeper  do  it  for  nothing? 

Reginald.  But  it  will  be  part  of  your  duty  as 
a  wife. 

Edith.  Not  under  this  contract.  I'll  not  have  it  so. 
If  I'm  to  keep  the  house,  I  shall  expect  Cecil  to  pay  me 
at  least  as  well  as  he  would  pay  a  hired  housekeeper. 
I'll  not  go  begging  to  him  every  time  I  want  a  new  dress 
or  a  cab  fare,  as  so  many  women  have  to  do. 


160  Getting  Married 

Sykes.  You  know  very  well  I  would  grudge  you 
nothing,  Edie. 

Edith.  Then  dont  grudge  me  my  self-respect  and 
independence.  I  insist  on  it  in  fairness  to  you,  Cecil, 
because  in  this  way  there  will  be  a  fund  belonging  solely 
to  me;  and  if  Slattox  takes  an  action  against  you  for 
anything  I  say,  you  can  pay  the  damages  and  stop  the 
interest  out  of  my  salary. 

Soames.  You  forget  that  under  this  contract  he  will 
not  be  liable,  because  you  will  not  be  his  wife  in  law. 

Edith.     Nonsense !     Of  course  I  shall  be  his  wife. 

Collins  [his  curiosity  roused]  Is  Slattox  taking  an 
action  against  you,  miss?  Slattox  is  on  the  Council  with 
me.     Could  I  settle  it? 

Edith.  He  has  not  taken  an  action ;  but  Cecil  says  he 
will. 

Collins.     What  for,  miss,  if  I  may  ask? 

Edith.  Slattox  is  a  liar  and  a  thief ;  and  it  is  my  duty 
to  expose  him. 

Collins.  You  surprise  me,  miss.  Of  course  Slattox 
is  in  a  manner  of  speaking  a  liar.  If  I  may  say  so  with- 
out offence,  we're  all  liars,  if  it  was  only  to  spare  one 
another's  feelings.  But  I  shouldnt  call  Slattox  a  thief. 
He's  not  all  that  he  should  be,  perhaps;  but  he  pays  his 
way. 

Edith.  If  that  is  only  your  nice  way  of  saying  that 
Slattox  is  entirely  unfit  to  have  two  hundred  girls  in  his 
power  as  absolute  slaves,  then  I  shall  say  that  too  about 
him  at  the  very  next  public  meeting  I  address.  He  steals 
their  wages  under  pretence  of  fining  them.  He  steals 
their  food  under  pretence  of  buying  it  for  them.  He  lies 
when  he  denies  having  done  it.  And  he  does  other 
things,  as  you  evidently  know,  Collins.  Therefore  I  give 
you  notice  that  I  shall  expose  him  before  all  England 
without  the  least  regard  to  the  consequences  to  myself. 

Sykes.     Or  to  me? 


Getting  Married  161 

Edith.  I  take  equal  risks.  Suppose  you  felt  it  to 
be  your  duty  to  shoot  Slattox,  what  would  become  of  me 
and  the  children?  I'm  sure  I  dont  want  anybody  to  be 
shot :  not  even  Slattox ;  but  if  the  public  never  will  take 
any  notice  of  even  the  most  crying  evil  until  somebody 
is  shot,  what  are  people  to  do  but  shoot  somebody? 

So ames  [inexorably]  I'm  waiting  for  my  instructions 
as  to  the  term  of  the  agreement. 

Reginald  [impatiently,  leaving  the  hearth  and  going 
behind  Soames~\  It's  no  good  talking  all  over  the  shop 
like  this.  We  shall  be  here  all  day.  I  propose  that  the 
agreement  holds  good  until  the  parties  are  divorced. 

Soames.  They  cant  be  divorced.  They  will  not  be 
married. 

Reginald.  But  if  they  cant  be  divorced,  then  this 
will  be  worse  than  marriage. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Of  course  it  will.  Do  stop  this 
nonsense.     Why,  who  are  the  children  to  belong  to? 

Lesbia.  We  have  already  settled  that  they  are  to  be- 
long to  the  mother. 

Reginald.  No:  I'm  dashed  if  you  have.  I'll  fight 
for  the  ownership  of  my  own  children  tooth  and  nail; 
and  so  will  a  good  many  other  fellows,  I  can  tell  you. 

Edith.  It  seems  to  me  that  they  should  be  divided 
between  the  parents.  If  Cecil  wishes  any  of  the  children 
to  be  his  exclusively,  he  should  pay  a  certain  sum  for 
the  risk  and  trouble  of  bringing  them  into  the  world:  say 
a  thousand  pounds  apiece.  The  interest  on  this  could  go 
towards  the  support  of  the  child  as  long  as  we  live  to- 
gether. But  the  principal  would  be  my  property.  In 
that  way,  if  Cecil  took  the  child  away  from  me,  I  should 
at  least  be  paid  for  what  it  had  cost  me. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth  [putting  down  her  knitting  in 
amazement]     Edith!     Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing!! 

Edith.     Well,  how  else  do  you  propose  to  settle  it? 

The   Bishop.     There  is  such  a  thing  as  a   favorite 


162  Getting  Married 

child.  What  about  the  youngest  child — the  Benjamin— 
the  child  of  its  parents'  matured  strength  and  charity, 
always  better  treated  and  better  loved  than  the  unfortu- 
nate eldest  children  of  their  youthful  ignorance  and  wil- 
fulness? Which  parent  is  to  own  the  youngest  child, 
payment  or  no  payment? 

Collins.  Theres  a  third  party,  my  lord.  Theres  the 
child  itself.  My  wife  is  so  fond  of  her  children  that 
they  cant  call  their  lives  their  own.  They  all  run 
away  from  home  to  escape  from  her.  A  child  hasnt  a 
grown-up  person's  appetite  for  affection.  A  little  of 
it  goes  a  long  way  with  them;  and  they  like  a  good 
imitation  of  it  better  than  the  real  thing,  as  every  nurse 
knows. 

Soames.  Are  you  sure  that  any  of  us,  young  or  old, 
like  the  real  thing  as  well  as  we  like  an  artistic  imitation 
of  it?  Is  not  the  real  thing  accursed?  Are  not  the  best 
beloved  always  the  good  actors  rather  than  the  true  suf- 
ferers? Is  not  love  always  falsified  in  novels  and  plays 
to  make  it  endurable?  I  have  noticed  in  myself  a  great 
delight  in  pictures  of  the  Saints  and  of  Our  Lady;  but 
when  I  fall  under  that  most  terrible  curse  of  the  priest's 
lot,  the  curse  of  Joseph  pursued  by  the  wife  of  Potiphar, 
I  am  invariably  repelled  and  terrified. 

Hotchkiss.  Are  you  now  speaking  as  a  saint,  Father 
Anthony,  or  as  a  solicitor? 

Soames.  There  is  no  difference.  There  is  not  one 
Christian  rule  for  solicitors  and  another  for  saints.  Their 
hearts  are  alike;  and  their  way  of  salvation  is  along  the 
same  road. 

The  Bishop.  But  "  few  there  be  that  find  it."  Can 
you  find  it  for  us,  Anthony? 

Soames.  It  lies  broad  before  you.  It  is  the  way  to 
destruction  that  is  narrow  and  tortuous.  Marriage  is  an 
abomination  which  the  Church  was  founded  to  cast  out 
and  replace  by  the  communion  of  saints.     I  learnt  that 


Getting  Married  163 

from  every  marriage  settlement  I  drew  up  as  a  solicitor 
no  less  than  from  inspired  revelation.  You  have  set 
yourselves  here  to  put  your  sin  before  you  in  black  and 
white;  and  you  cant  agree  upon  or  endure  one  article 
of  it. 

Sykes.  It's  certainly  rather  odd  that  the  whole  thing 
seems  to  fall  to  pieces  the  moment  you  touch  it. 

The  Bishop.  You  see,  when  you  give  the  devil  fair 
play  he  loses  his  case.  He  has  not  been  able  to  produce 
even  the  first  clause  of  a  working  agreement;  so  I'm 
afraid  we  cant  wait  for  him  any  longer. 

Lesbia.  Then  the  community  will  have  to  do  without 
my  children. 

Edith.     And  Cecil  will  have  to  do  without  me. 

Leo  [getting  off  the  chest]  And  I  positively  will 
not  marry  Sin j  on  if  he  is  not  clever  enough  to  make 
some  provision  for  my  looking  after  Rejjy.  [She  leaves 
Hotchhiss,  and  goes  back  to  her  chair  ct  the  end  of  the 
table  behind  Mrs  Bridgenorth]. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  And  the  world  will  come  to  an 
end  with  this  generation,  I  suppose. 

Collins.     Cant  nothing  be  done,  my  lord? 

The  Bishop.  You  can  make  divorce  reasonable  and 
decent:  that  is  all. 

Lesbia.  Thank  you  for  nothing.  If  you  will  only 
make  marriage  reasonable  and  decent,  you  can  do  as 
you  like  about  divorce.  I  have  not  stated  my  deepest 
objection  to  marriage;  and  I  dont  intend  to.  There  are 
certain  rights  I  will  not  give  any  person  over  me. 

Reginald.  Well,  I  think  it  jolly  hard  that  a  man 
should  support  his  wife  for  years,  and  lose  the  chance 
of  getting  a  really  good  wife,  and  then  have  her  refuse 
to  be  a  wife  to  him. 

Lesbia.  I'm  not  going  to  discuss  it  with  you,  Rejjy. 
If  your  sense  of  personal  honor  doesnt  make  you  under- 
stand, nothing  will. 


164  Getting  Married 

So ames  [implacably]  I'm  still  awaiting  my  instruc- 
tions. 

They  look  at  one  another,  each  waiting  for  one  of  the 
others  to  suggest  something.     Silence. 

Reginald  [blankly]  I  suppose,  after  all,  marriage  is 
better  than — well,  than  the  usual  alternative. 

So  ames  [turning  fiercely  on  him]  What  right  have 
you  to  say  so?  You  know  that  the  sins  that  are  wasting 
and  maddening  this  unhappy  nation  are  those  committed 
in  wedlock. 

Collins.  Well,  the  single  ones  cant  afford  to  in- 
dulge their  affections  the  same  as  married  people. 

Soames.  Away  with  it  all,  I  say.  You  have  your 
Master's  commandments.     Obey  them. 

Hotchkiss  [rising  and  leaning  on  the  back  of  the 
chair  left  vacant  by  the  General]  I  really  must  point 
out  to  you,  Father  Anthony,  that  the  early  Christian  rules 
of  life  were  not  made  to  last,  because  the  early  Christians 
did  not  believe  that  the  world  itself  was  going  to  last. 
Now  we  know  that  we  shall  have  to  go  through  with  it. 
We  have  found  that  there  are  millions  of  years  behind 
us;  and  we  know^  that  that  there  are  millions  before  us. 
Mrs  Bridgenorth's  question  remains  unanswered.  How 
is  the  world  to  go  on?  You  say  that  that  is  our  business 
— that  it  is  the  business  of  Providence.  But  the 
modern  Christian  view  is  that  we  are  here  to  do  the 
business  of  Providence  and  nothing  else.  The  question  is, 
how.  Am  I  not  to  use  my  reason  to  find  out  why? 
Isnt  that  what  my  reason  is  for?  Well,  all  my  reason 
tells  me  at  present  is  that  you  are  an  impracticable 
lunatic. 

Soames.     Does  that  help? 
Hotchkiss.     No. 
Soames.     Then  pray  for  light. 
^  Hotchkiss.     No:  I  am  a  snob,  not  a  beggar.      [He 
sits  down  in  the  General's  chair]. 


Getting  Married  165 

Collins.  We  dont  seem  to  be  getting  on,  do  we? 
Miss  Edith:  you  and  Mr  Sykes  had  better  go  off  to 
church  and  settle  the  right  and  wrong  of  it  afterwards. 
Itll  ease  your  minds,  believe  me:  I  speak  from  experi- 
ence.    You  will  burn  your  boats,  as  one  might  say. 

Soames.  We  should  never  burn  our  boats.  It  is 
death  in  life. 

Collins.  Well,  Father,  I  will  say  for  you  that  yon 
have  views  of  your  own  and  are  not  afraid  to  out  with 
them.  But  some  of  us  are  of  a  more  cheerful  disposition. 
On  the  Borough  Council  now,  you  would  be  in  a  minority 
of  one.     You  must  take  human  nature  as  it  is. 

Soames.  Upon  what  compulsion  must  I?  I'll  take 
divine  nature  as  it  is.     I'll  not  hold  a  candle  to  the  devil. 

The  Bishop.  Thats  a  very  unchristian  way  of  treat- 
ing the  devil. 

Reginald.  Well,  we  dont  seem  to  be  getting  any  fur- 
ther, do  we? 

The  Bishop.  Will  you  give  it  up  and  get  married, 
Edith  ? 

Edith.  No.  What  I  propose  seems  to  me  quite  rea- 
sonable. 

The  Bishop.     And  you,  Lesbia? 

Lesbia.     Never. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  Never  is  a  long  word,  Lesbia. 
Dont  say  it. 

Lesbia  [with  a  flash  of  temper]  Dont  pity  me,  Alice, 
please.  As  I  said  before,  I  am  an  English  lady,  quite 
prepared  to  do  without  anything  I  cant  have  on  hon- 
orable conditions. 

Soames  [after  a  silence  expressive  of  utter  deadlock] 
I  am  still  awaiting  my  instructions. 

Reginald.  Well,  we  dont  seem  to  be  getting  along, 
do  we? 

Leo  [out  of  patience]  You  said  that  before,  Rejjy. 
Do  not  repeat  yourself. 


166  Getting  Married 

Reginald.  Oh,  bother!  [He  goes  to  the  garden 
door  and  looks  out  gloomily]. 

Soames  [rising  with  the  paper  in  his  hands]  Psha! 
[He  tears  it  in  pieces].     So  much  for  the  contract! 

The  Voice  of  The  Beadle.  By  your  leave  there, 
gentlemen.  Make  way  for  the  Mayoress.  Way  for  the 
worshipful  the  Mayoress,  my  lords  and  gentlemen.  [He 
comes  in  through  the  tower,  in  cocked  hat  and  gold- 
braided  overcoat,  bearing  the  borough  mace,  and  posts 
himself  at  the  entrance].  By  your  leave,  gentlemen,  way 
for  the  worshipful  the  Mayoress. 

Collins  [moving  back  towards  the  wall]  Mrs 
George,  my  lord. 

Mrs  George  is  every  inch  a  Mayoress  in  point  of  sty- 
lish dressing;  and  she  does  it  very  well  indeed.  There 
is  nothing  quiet  about  Mrs  George:  she  is  not  afraid  of 
colors,  and  knows  how  to  make  the  most  of  them.  Not 
at  all  a  lady  in  Lesbia's  use  of  the  term  as  a  class  label, 
she  proclaims  herself  to  the  first  glance  as  the  triumph- 
ant, pampered,  wilful,  intensely  alive  woman  who  has 
always  been  rich  among  poor  people.  In  a  historical 
museum  she  would  explain  Edward  the  Fourth's  taste  for 
shopkeepers'  wives.  Her  age,  which  is  certainly  40,  and 
might  be  50,  is  carried  off  by  her  vitality,  her  resilient 
figure,  and  her  confident  carriage.  So  far,  a  remarkably 
well-preserved  woman.  But  her  beauty  is  wrecked,  like 
an  ageless  landscape  ravaged  by  long  and  fierce  war. 
Her  eyes  are  alive,  arresting  and  haunting;  and  there  is 
still  a  turn  of  delicate  beauty  and  pride  in  her  indom- 
itable chin;  but  her  cheeks  are  wasted  and  lined,  her 
mouth  writhen  and  piteous.  The  whole  face  is  a  battle- 
field of  the  passions,  quite  deplorable  until  she  speaks, 
when  an  alert  sense  of  fun  rejuvenates  her  in  a  moment, 
and  makes  her  company  irresistible. 

All  rise  except  Soames,  who  sits  down.  Leo  joins 
Reginald  at  the  garden  door.     Mrs  Bridgenorth  hurries 


Getting  Married  167 


lG 


to  the  tower  to  receive  her  guest,  and  gets  as  far  at 
Soames's  chair  when  Mrs  George  appears.  Hotchkiss, 
apparently  recognizing  her,  recoils  in  consternation  to 
the  study  door  at  the  furthest  corner  of  the  room  from 
her. 

Mrs  George  [coming  straight  to  the  Bishop  with  the 
ring  in  her  hand]  Here  is  your  ring,  my  lord;  and  here 
am  I.     It's  your  doing,  remember:  not  mine. 

The  Bishop.     Good  of  you  to  come. 

Mrs   Bridgenorth.     How  do  you  do,  Mrs   Collins? 

Mrs  George  [going  to  her  past  the  Bishop,  and  gaz- 
ing intently  at  her]     Are  you  his  wife? 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.     The  Bishop's  wife?     Yes. 

Mrs  George.  What  a  destiny!  And  you  look  like 
any  other  woman ! 

Mrs  Bridgenorth  [introducing  Lesbia]  My  sister, 
Miss  Grantham. 

Mrs  George.  So  strangely  mixed  up  with  the  story 
of  the  General's  life? 

The  Bishop.     You  know  the  story  of  his  life,  then? 

Mrs  George.  Not  all.  We  reached  the  house  be- 
fore he  brought  it  up  to  the  present  day.  But  enough 
to  know  the  part  played  in  it  by  Miss  Grantham. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth  [introducing  Leo]  Mrs  Reginald 
Bridgenorth. 

Reginald.     The  late  Mrs   Reginald  Bridgenorth. 

Leo.  Hold  your  tongue,  Rejjy.  At  least  have  the 
decency  to  wait  until  the  decree  is  made  absolute. 

Mrs  George  [to  Leo]  Well,  youve  more  time  to  get 
married  again  than  he  has,  havnt  you? 

Mrs  Bridgenorth  [introducing  Hotchkiss]  Mr  St 
John  Hotchkiss. 

Hotchkiss,  still  far  aloof  by  the  study  door,  bows. 

Mrs  George.  What!  That!  [She  makes  a  half 
tour  of  the  kitchen  and  ends  right  in  front  of  him]. 
Young  man:  do  you  remember  coming  into  my  shop  and 


168  Getting  Married 

telling  me  that  my  husband's  coals  were  out  of  place  in 
your  cellar,  as  Nature  evidently  intended  them  for  the 
roof? 

Hotchkiss.  I  remember  that  deplorable  impertinence 
with  shame  and  confusion.  You  were  kind  enough  to 
answer  that  Mr  Collins  was  looking  out  for  a  clever 
young  man  to  write  advertisements,  and  that  I  could  take 
the  job  if  I  liked. 

Mrs  George.     It's  still  open.     [She  turns  to  Edith], 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  My  daughter  Edith.  [She  comes 
towards  the  study  door  to  make  the  introduction], 

Mrs  George.  The  bride !  [Looking  at  Edith's 
dressing-jacket]  Youre  not  going  to  get  married  like 
that,  are  you? 

The  Bishop  [coming  round  the  table  to  Edith's  left] 
Thats  just  what  we  are  discussing.  Will  you  be  so  good 
as  to  join  us  and  allow  us  the  benefit  of  your  wisdom 
and  experience? 

Mrs  George.  Do  you  want  the  Beadle  as  well? 
He's  a  married  man. 

They  all  turn  involuntarily  and  contemplate  the 
Beadle,  who  sustains  their  gaze  with  dignity. 

The  Bishop.  We  think  there  are  already  too  many 
men  to  be  quite  fair  to  the  women. 

Mrs  George.  Right,  my  lord.  [She  goes  back  to 
the  tower  and  addresses  the  Beadle]  Take  away  that 
bauble,  Joseph.  Wait  for  me  wherever  you  find  yourself 
most  comfortable  in  the  neighborhood.  [The  Beadle 
withdraws.  She  notices  Collins  for  the  first  time]. 
Hullo,  Bill:  youve  got  em  all  on  too.  Go  and  hunt  up  a 
drink  for  Joseph :  theres  a  dear.  [  Collins  goes  out.  She 
looks  at  Soames's  cassock  and  biretta]  What!  Another 
uniform!     Are  you  the  sexton?     [He  rises]. 

The  Bishop.     My  chaplain,  Father  Anthony. 

Mrs  George.  Oh  Lord!  [To  Soames,  coaxingly] 
You  dont  mind,  do  you? 


Getting  Married  169 

Soames.     I  mind  nothing  but  my  duties. 

The  Bishop.     You  know  everybody  now,  I  think. 

Mrs  George  [turning  to  the  railed  chair]    Who's  this? 

The  Bishop.  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Cecil.  Mr 
Sykes.    The  bridegroom. 

Mrs  George  [to  Sykes]  Adorned  for  the  sacrifice, 
arnt  you? 

Sykes.  It  seems  doubtful  whether  there  is  going  to 
be  any  sacrifice. 

Mrs  George.  Well,  I  want  to  talk  to  the  women 
first.  Shall  we  go  upstairs  and  look  at  the  presents  and 
dresses  ? 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.     If  you  wish,  certainly. 

Reginald.  But  the  men  want  to  hear  what  you  have 
to  say  too. 

Mrs  George.  I'll  talk  to  them  afterwards:  one  by 
one. 

Hotchkiss   [to  himself]      Great  heavens! 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  This  way,  Mrs  Collins.  [She 
leads  the  way  out  through  the  tower,  followed  by  Mrs 
George,  Lesbia,  Leo,  and  Edith], 

The  Bishop.  Shall  we  try  to  get  through  the  last 
batch  of  letters  whilst  they  are  away,  Soames? 

Soames.  Yes,  certainly.  [To  Hotchkiss,  who  is  in 
his  way]     Excuse  me. 

The  Bishop  and  Soames  go  into  the  study,  disturbing 
Hotchkiss,  who,  plunged  in  a  strange  reverie,  has  for- 
gotten where  he  is.  Awakened  by  Soames,  he  stares  dis- 
tractedly; then,  with  sudden  resolution,  goes  swiftly  to 
the  middle  of  the  kitchen. 

Hotchkiss.  Cecil.  Rejjy.  [Startled  by  his  urgency, 
they  hurry  to  him],  I'm  frightfully  sorry  to  desert  on 
this  day;  but  I  must  bolt.  This  time  it  really  is  pure 
cowardice.     I  cant  help  it. 

Reginald.     What  are  you  afraid  of? 

Hotchkiss.     I  dont  know.     Listen  to  me.     I  was  a 


170  Getting  Married 

young  fool  living  by  myself  in  London.  I  ordered  my 
first  ton  of  coals  from  that  woman's  husband.  At  that 
time  I  did  not  know  that  it  is  not  true  economy  to  buy 
the  lowest  priced  article:  I  thought  all  coals  were  alike, 
and  tried  the  thirteen  shilling  kind  because  it  seemed 
cheap.  It  proved  unexpectedly  inferior  to  the  family 
Silkstone ;  and  in  the  irritation  into  which  the  first  scuttle 
threw  me,  I  called  at  the  shop  and  made  an  idiot  of 
myself  as  she  described. 

Sykes.     Well,  suppose  you  did!     Laugh  at  it,  man. 

Hotchkiss.  At  that,  yes.  But  there  was  something 
worse.  Judge  of  my  horror  when,  calling  on  the  coal 
merchant  to  make  a  trifling  complaint  at  finding  my 
grate  acting  as  a  battery  of  quick-firing  guns,  and  being 
confronted  by  his  vulgar  wife,  I  felt  in  her  presence  an 
extraordinary  sensation  of  unrest,  of  emotion,  of  unsat- 
isfied need.  I'll  not  disgust  you  with  details  of  the  mad- 
ness and  folly  that  followed  that  meeting.  But  it  went 
as  far  as  this:  that  I  actually  found  myself  prowling 
past  the  shop  at  night  under  a  sort  of  desperate  neces- 
sity to  be  near  some  place  where  she  had  beerrr  A  hide- 
ous temptation  to  kiss  the  doorstep  because  her  foot  had 
pressed  it  made  me  realize  how  mad  I  was.  I  tore  my- 
self away  from  London  by  a  supreme  effort;  but  I  was 
on  the  point  of  returning  like  a  needle  to  the  lodestone 
when  the  outbreak  of  the  war  saved  me.  On  the  field  of 
battle  the  infatuation  wore  off.  The  Billiter  affair  made 
a  new  man  of  me:  I  felt  that  I  had  left  the  follies  and 
puerilities  of  the  old  days  behind  me  for  ever.  But  half- 
an-hour  ago — when  the  Bishop  sent  off  that  ring — a  sud- 
den grip  at  the  base  of  my  heart  filled  me  with  a  name- 
less terror — me,  the  fearless !  I  recognized  its  cause 
when  she  walked  into  the  room.  Cecil:  this  woman  is  a 
harpy,  a  siren,  a  mermaid,  a  vampire.  There  is  only 
one  chance  for  me:  flight,  instant  precipitate  flight. 
Make  my  excuses.     Forget  me.     Farewell.     [He  makes 


Getting  Married  171 

for  the  door  and  is  confronted  by  Mrs  George  entering]. 
Too  late:  I'm  lost.  [He  turns  back  and  throws  himself 
desperately  into  the  chair  nearest  the  study  door;  that 
being  the  furthest  away  from  her]. 

Mrs  George  [coming  to  the  hearth  and  addressing 
Reginald]  Mr  Bridgenorth:  will  you  oblige  me  by  leav- 
ing me  with  this  young  man.  I  want  to  talk  to  him  like 
a  mother,  on  your  business. 

Reginald.  Do,  maam.  He  needs  it  badly.  Come 
along,  Sykes.      [He  goes  into  the  study]. 

Sykes  [looks  irresolutely  at  Hotchkiss]  —  ? 

Hotchkiss.  Too  late:  you  cant  save  me  now,  Cecil. 
Go. 

Sykes  goes  into  the  study.  Mrs  George  strolls  across 
to  Hotchkiss  and  contemplates  him  curiously. 

Hotchkiss.  Useless  to  prolong  this  agony.  [Ris- 
ing] Fatal  woman — if  woman  you  are  indeed  and  not  a 
fiehd  in  human  form — 

Mrs  George.  Is  this  out  of  a  book?  Or  is  it  your 
usual  society  small  talk? 

Hotchkiss  [recklessly]  Jibes  are  useless:  the  force 
that  is  sweeping  me  away  will  not  spare  you.  I  must 
know  the  worst  at  once.     What  was  your  father? 

Mrs  George.  A  licensed  victualler  who  married  his 
barmaid.     You  would  call  him  a  publican,  most  likely. 

Hotchkiss.  Then  you  are  a  woman  totally  beneath 
me.  Do  you  deny  it?  Do  you  set  up  any  sort  of  pre- 
tence to  be  my  equal  in  rank,  in  age,  or  in  culture? 

Mrs  George.  Have  you  eaten  anything  that  has  dis- 
agreed with  you? 

Hotchkiss  [witheringly]     Inferior! 

Mrs  George.  Thank  you.     Anything  else? 

Hotchkiss.  This.  I  love  you.  My  intentions  are 
not  honorable.  [She  shows  no  dismay].  Scream.  Ring 
the  bell.     Have  me  turned  out  of  the  house. 

Mrs  George   [with  sudden  depth  of  feeling]     Oh,  if 


172  Getting  Married 

you  could  restore  to  this  wasted  exhausted  heart  one  ray 
of  the  passion  that  once  welled  up  at  the  glance — at  the 
touch  of  a  lover !  It's  you  who  would  scream  then,  young 
man.  Do  you  see  this  face,  once  fresh  and  rosy  like  your 
own,  now  scarred  and  riven  by  a  hundred  burnt-out 
fires  ? 

Hotchkiss  [wildly]  Slate  fires.  Thirteen  shillings  a 
ton.  Fires  that  shoot  out  destructive  meteors,  blinding 
and  burning,  sending  men  into  the  streets  to  make  fools 
of  themselves. 

Mrs  George.  You  seem  to  have  got  it  pretty  bad, 
Sin  j  on. 

Hotchkiss.     Dont  dare  call  me  Sinjon. 

Mrs  George.  My  name  is  Zenobia  Alexandrina.  You 
may  call  me  Polly  for  short. 

Hotchkiss.  Your  name  is  Ashtoreth — Durga — there 
is  no  name  yet  invented  malign  enough  for  you. 

Mrs  George  [sitting  down  comfortably]  Come!  Do 
you  really  think  youre  better  suited  to  that  young  sauce- 
box than  her  husband?  You  enjoyed  her  company  when 
you  were  only  the  friend  of  the  family — when  there  was 
the  husband  there  to  shew  off  against  and  to  take  all  the 
responsibility.  Are  you  sure  youll  enjoy  it  as  much 
when  you  are  the  husband?  She  isnt  clever,  you  know. 
She's  only  silly-clever. 

Hotchkiss  [uneasily  leaning  against  the  table  and 
holding  on  to  it  to  control  his  nervous  movements]  Need 
you  tell  me  ?  fiend  that  you  are ! 

Mrs  George.     You  amused  the  husband,  didnt  you? 

Hotchkiss.  He  has  more  real  sense  of  humor  than 
she.     He's  better  bred.     That  was  not  my  fault. 

Mrs  George.  My  husband  has  a  sense  of  humor 
too. 

Hotchkiss.  The  coal  merchant? — I  mean  the  slate 
merchant. 

Mrs  George  [appreciatively]     He  would  just  love  to 


Getting  Married  173 

hear  you  talk.    He's  been  dull  lately  for  want  of  a  change 
of  company  and  a  bit  of  fresh  fun. 

Hotchkiss  [flinging  a  chair  opposite  her  and  sitting 
down  with  an  overdone  attempt  at  studied  insolence] 
And  pray  what  is  your  wretched  husband's  vulgar  con- 
viviality to  me? 

Mrs  George.     You  love  me? 

Hotchkiss.     I  loathe  yon. 

Mrs  George.     It's  the  same  thing. 

Hotchkiss.     Then  I'm  lost. 

Mrs  George.  You  may  come  and  see  me  if  yon 
promise  to  amuse  George. 

Hotchkiss.  I'll  insult  him,  sneer  at  him,  wipe  my 
boots  on  him. 

Mrs  George.  No  you  wont,  dear  boy.  Youll  be  a 
perfect  gentleman. 

Hotchkiss  [beaten:  appealing  to  her  mercy]  Zeno- 
bia — 

Mrs  George.     Polly,  please. 

Hotchkiss.     Mrs  Collins — 

Mrs  George.     Sir? 

Hotchkiss.  Something  stronger  than  my  reason  and 
common  sense  is  holding  my  hands  and  tearing  me  along. 
I  make  no  attempt  to  deny  that  it  can  drag  me  where 
you  please  and  make  me  do  what  you  like.  But  at  least 
let  me  know  your  soul  as  you  seem  to  know  mine.  Do 
you  love  this  absurd  coal  merchant? 

Mrs  George.     Call  him  George. 

Hotchkiss.     Do  you  love  your  Jorjy  Porjy? 

Mrs  George.  Oh,  I  dont  know  that  I  love  him.  He's 
my  husband,  you  know.  But  if  I  got  anxious  about 
George's  health,  and  I  thought  it  would  nourish  him,  I< 
would  fry  you  with  onions  for  his  breakfast  and  think 
nothing  of  it.  George  and  I  are  good  friends.  George 
belongs  to  me.  Other  men  may  come  and  go ;  but  George 
goes  on  for  ever. 


174  Getting  Married 

Hotchkis8.  Yes:  a  husband  soon  becomes  nothing 
but  a  habit.  Listen:  I  suppose  this  detestable  fascina- 
tion you  have  for  me  is  love. 

Mrs  George.  Any  sort  of  feeling  for  a  woman  is 
called  love  nowadays. 

Hotchkiss.     Do  you  love  me? 

Mrs  George  [promptly]  My  love  is  not  quite  so 
cheap  an  article  as  that,  my  lad.  I  wouldnt  cross  the 
street  to  have  another  look  at  you — not  yet.  I'm  not 
starving  for  love  like  the  robins  in  winter,  as  the  good 
ladies  youre  accustomed  to  are.  Youll  have  to  be  very 
clever,  and  very  good,  and  very  real,  if  you  are  to  inter- 
est me.  If  George  takes  a  fancy  to  you,  and  you  amuse 
him  enough,  I'll  just  tolerate  you  coming  in  and  out  oc- 
casionally for — well,  say  a  month.  If  you  can  make  a 
friend  of  me  in  that  time  so  much  the  better  for  you. 
If  you  can  touch  my  poor  dying  heart  even  for  an  in- 
stant, I'll  bless  you,  and  never  forget  you.  You  may  try- 
— if  George  takes  to  you. 

Hotchkiss.     I'm  to  come  on  liking  for  the  month? 

Mrs  George.  On  condition  that  you  drop  Mrs  Reg- 
inald. 

Hotchkiss.  But  she  wont  drop  me.  Do  you  suppose 
I  ever  wanted  to  marry  her  ?  I  was  a  homeless  bachelor ; 
and  I  felt  quite  happy  at  their  house  as  their  friend. 
Leo  was  an  amusing  little  devil;  but  I  liked  Reginald 
much  more  than  I  liked  her.  She  didnt  understand. 
One  day  she  came  to  me  and  told  me  that  the  inevitable 
had  happened.  I  had  tact  enough  not  to  ask  her  what 
the  inevitable  was ;  and  I  gathered  presently  that  she  had 
told  Reginald  that  their  marriage  was  a  mistake  and  that 
she  loved  me  and  could  no  longer  see  me  breaking  my 
heart  for  her  in  suffering  silence.  What  could  I  say? 
What  could  I  do  ?  What  can  I  say  now  ?  What  can  I  do 
now? 

Mrs  George.     Tell  her  that  the  habit  of  falling  in 


Getting  Married  175 

love  with  other  men's  wives  is  growing  on  you;  and  that 
I'm  your  latest. 

Hotchkiss.  What!  Throw  her  over  when  she  has 
thrown  Reginald  over  for  me! 

Mrs  George  [rising]  You  wont  then?  Very  well. 
Sorry  we  shant  meet  again:  I  should  have  liked  to  see 
more  of  you  for  George's  sake.  Good-bye  [she  moves 
away  from  him  towards  the  hearth], 

Hotchkiss  [appealing]     Zenobia — 

Mrs.  George.  I  thought  I  had  made  a  difficult  con- 
quest. Now  I  see  you  are  only  one  of  those  poor  petti- 
coat-hunting creatures  that  any  woman  can  pick  up.  Not 
for  me,  thank  you.  [Inexorable,  she  turns  towards  the 
tower  to  go]. 

Hotchkiss  [following]     Dont  be  an  ass,  Polly. 

Mrs  George  [stopping]     Thats  better. 

Hotchkiss.  Cant  you  see  that  I  maynt  throw  Leo 
over  just  because  I  should  be  only  too  glad  to.  It  would 
be   dishonorable. 

Mrs  George.     Will  you  be  happy  if  you  marry  her? 

Hotchkiss.     No,  great  heaven,  NO ! 

Mrs  George.     Will  she  be  happy  when  she  finds  you 

out? 

Hotchkiss.  She's  incapable  of  happiness.  But  she's 
not  incapable  of  the  pleasure  of  holding  a  man  against 
his  will. 

Mrs  George.  Right,  young  man.  You  will  tell  her, 
please,  that  you  love  me:  before  everybody,  mind,  the 
very  next  time  you  see  her. 

Hotchkiss.     But — 

Mrs  George.  Those  are  my  orders,  Sin j  on.  I  cant 
have  you  marry  another  woman  until  George  is  tired  of 

you. 

Hotchkiss.     Oh,  if   I   only  didnt  selfishly  want  to 

obey  you! 

The  General  comes  in  from  the  garden.    Mrs  George 


176  Getting  Married 

goes  half  way  to  the  garden  door  to  speak  to  him. 
Hotchkiss  posts  himself  on  the  hearth. 

Mrs  George.     Where  have  you  been  all  this  time? 

The  General.  I'm  afraid  my  nerves  were  a  little 
upset  by  our  conversation.  I  just  went  into  the  garden 
and  had  a  smoke.  I'm  all  right  now  [he  strolls  down  to 
the  study  door  and  presently  takes  a  chair  at  that  end  of 
the  big  table]. 

Mrs  George.  A  smoke !  Why,  you  said  she  couldnt 
bear  it. 

The  General.  Good  heavens!  I  forgot!  It's  such 
a  natural  thing  to  do,  somehow. 

Lesbia  comes  in  through  the  tower. 

Mrs  George.     He's  been  smoking  again. 

Lesbia.  So  my  nose  tells  me.  [She  goes  to  the  end 
of  the  table  nearest  the  hearth,  and  sits  down]. 

The  General.  Lesbia:  I'm  very  sorry.  But  if  I 
gave  it  up,  I  should  become  so  melancholy  and  irritable 
that  you  would  be  the  first  to  implore  me  to  take  to  it 
again. 

Mrs  George.  Thats  true.  Women  drive  their  hus- 
bands into  all  sorts  of  wickedness  to  keep  them  in  good 
humor.  Sinjon:  be  off  with  you:  this  doesnt  concern 
you. 

Lesbia.  Please  dont  disturb  yourself,  Sinjon.  Box- 
er's broken  heart  has  been  worn  on  his  sleeve  too  long 
for  any  pretence  of  privacy. 

The  General.  You  are  cruel,  Lesbia:  devilishly 
cruel.     [He  sits  down,  wounded]. 

Lesbia.     You  are  vulgar,  Boxer. 

Hotchkiss.  In  what  way?  I  ask,  as  an  expert  in 
vulgarity. 

Lesbia.  In  two  ways.  First,  he  talks  as  if  the  only 
thing  of  any  importance  in  life  was  which  particu- 
lar woman  he  shall  marry.  Second,  he  has  no  self- 
control. 


Getting  Married  177 

The  General.  Women  are  not  all  the  same  to  me, 
Lesbia. 

Mrs  George.  Why  should  they  be,  pray?  Women 
are  all  different:  it's  the  men  who  are  all  the  same.  Be- 
sides, what  does  Miss  Grantham  know  about  either  men 
or  women?     She's  got  too  much  self-control. 

Lesbia  [widening  her  eyes  and  lifting  her  chin  haugh- 
tily] And  pray  how  does  that  prevent  me  from  knowing 
as  much  about  men  and  women  as  people  who  have  no 
self-control  ? 

Mrs  George.  Because  it  frightens  people  into  behav- 
ing themselves  before  you;  and  then  how  can  you  tell 
what  they  really  are  ?  Look  at  me !  I  was  a  spoilt 
child.  My  brothers  and  sisters  were  well  brought  up, 
like  all  children  of  respectable  publicans.  So  should  I 
have  been  if  I  hadnt  been  the  youngest:  ten  years 
younger  than  my  youngest  brother.  My  parents  were 
tired  of  doing  their  duty  by  their  children  by  that  time; 
and  they  spoilt  me  for  all  they  were  worth.  I  never  knew 
what  it  was  to  want  money  or  anything  that  money  could 
buy.  When  I  wanted  my  own  way,  I  had  nothing  to  do 
but  scream  for  it  till  I  got  it.  When  I  was  annoyed  J 
didnt  control  myself :  I  scratched  and  called  names.  Did 
you  ever,  after  you  were  grown  up,  pull  a  grown-up 
woman's  hair?  Did  you  ever  bite  a  grown-up  man? 
Did  you  ever  call  both  of  them  every  name  you  could 
lay  your  tongue  to  ? 

Lesbia  [shivering  with  disgust]     No. 

Mrs  George.  Well,  I  did.  I  know  what  a  woman  is 
like  when  her  hair's  pulled.  I  know  what  a  man  is  like 
when  he's  bit.  I  know  what  theyre  both  like  when  you 
tell  them  what  you  really  feel  about  them.  And  thats  how 
I  know  more  of  the  world  than  you. 

Lesbia.  The  Chinese  know  what  a  man  is  like  when 
he  is  cut  into  a  thousand  pieces,  or  boiled  in  oil.  That 
sort  of  knowledge  is  of  no  use  to  me.     I'm  afraid  we 


178  Getting  Married 

shall  never  get.  on  with  one  another,  Mrs  George.  I  live 
like  a  fencer,  always  on  guard.  I  like  to  be  confronted 
with  people  who  are  always  on  guard.  I  hate  sloppy 
people,  slovenly  people,  people  who  cant  sit  up  straight, 
sentimental  people. 

Mrs  George.  Oh,  sentimental  your  grandmother! 
You  dont  learn  to  hold  your  own  in  the  world  by  stand- 
ing on  guard,  but  by  attacking,  and  getting  well  ham- 
mered yourself. 

Lesbia.  I'm  not  a  prize-fighter,  Mrs.  Collins.  If  I 
cant  get  a  thing  without  the  indignity  of  fighting  for 
it,  I  do  without  it. 

Mrs  George.  Do  you?  Does  it  strike  you  that  if 
we  were  all  as  clever  as  you  at  doing  without,  there 
wouldnt  be  much  to  live  for,  would  there? 

The  General.  I'm  afraid,  Lesbia,  the  things  you 
do  without  are  the  things  you  dont  want. 

Lesbia  [surprised  at  his  wit]  Thats  not  bad  for  the 
silly  soldier  man.  Yes,  Boxer:  the  truth  is,  I  dont  want 
you  enough  to  make  the  very  unreasonable  sacrifices  re- 
quired by  marriage.  And  yet  that  is  exactly  why  I 
ought  to  be  married.  Just  because  I  have  the  qualities 
my  country  wants  most  I  shall  go  barren  to  my  grave; 
whilst  the  women  who  have  neither  the  strength  to  resist 
marriage  nor  the  intelligence  to  understand  its  infinite 
dishonor  will  make  the  England  of  the  future.  [She 
rises  and  walks  towards  the  study]. 

The  General  [as  she  is  about  to  pass  him]  Well,  I 
shall  not  ask  you  again,  Lesbia. 

Lesbia.  Thank  you,  Boxer.  [She  passes  on  to  the 
study  door]. 

Mrs  George.  Youre  quite  done  with  him,  are 
you? 

Lesbia.  As  far  as  marriage  is  concerned,  yes.  The 
field  is  clear  for  you,  Mrs  George.  [She  goes  into  the 
study]. 


Getting  Married  179 

The  General  buries  his  face  in  his  hands.  Mrs  George 
comes  round  the  table  to  him. 

Mrs  George  [sympathetically]  She's  a  nice  woman, 
that.  And  a  sort  of  beauty  about  her  too,  different  from 
anyone  else. 

The  General  [overwhelmed]  Oh  Mrs  Collins,  thank 
you,  thank  you  a  thousand  times.  [He  rises  effusively']. 
You  have  thawed  the  long-frozen  springs  [he  kisses  her 
hand].  Forgive  me;  and  thank  you:  bless  you — [he  again 
takes  refuge  in  the  garden,  choked  with  emotion]. 

Mrs  George  [looking  after  him  triumphantly]  Just 
caught  the  dear  old  warrior  on  the  bounce,  eh? 

Hotchkiss.     Unfaithful  to  me  already! 

Mrs  George.  I'm  not  your  property,  young  man: 
dont  you  think  it.  [She  goes  over  to  him  and  faces  him]. 
You  understand  that?  [He  suddenly  snatches  her  into 
his  arms  and  kisses  her].  Oh!  You  dare  do  that  again, 
you  young  blackguard;  and  I'll  jab  one  of  these  chairs  in 
your  face  [she  seizes  one  and  holds  it  in  readiness]. 
Now  you  shall  not  see  me  for  another  month. 

Hotchkiss  [deliberately]  I  shall  pay  my  first  visit 
to  your  husband  this  afternoon. 

Mrs  George.  Youll  see  what  he'll  say  to  you  when  I 
tell  him  what  youve  just  done. 

Hotchkiss.     What  can  he  say?     What  dare  he  say? 

Mrs  George.     Suppose  he  kicks  you  out  of  the  house? 

Hotchkiss.  How  can  he?  Ive  fought  seven  duels 
with  sabres.  Ive  muscles  of  iron.  Nothing  hurts  me: 
not  even  broken  bones.  Fighting  is  absolutely  uninter- 
esting to  me  because  it  doesnt  frighten  me  or  amuse  me; 
and  I  always  win.  Your  husband  is  in  all  these  respects 
an  average  man,  probably.  He  will  be  horribly  afraid 
of  me;  and  if  under  the  stimulus  of  your  presence,  and 
for  your  sake,  and  because  it  is  the  right  thing  to  do 
among  vulgar  people,  he  were  to  attack  me,  I  should  sim- 
ply defeat  him  and  humiliate  him  [he  gradually  get*  his 


180  Getting  Married 

hands  on  the  chair  and  takes  it  from  her,  as  his  words 
go  home  phrase  by  phrase].  Sooner  than  expose  him 
to  that,  you  would  suffer  a  thousand  stolen  kisses, 
wouldnt  you? 

Mrs  George  [in  utter  consternation]  You  young 
viper! 

Hotchkiss.  Ha  ha !  You  are  in  my  power.  That  is 
one  of  the  oversights  of  your  code  of  honor  for  husbands: 
the  man  who  can  bully  them  can  insult  their  wives  with 
impunity.  Tell  him  if  you  dare.  If  I  choose  to  take 
ten  kisses,  how  will  you  prevent  me? 

Mrs  George.  You  come  within  reach  of  me  and  I'll 
not  leave  a  hair  on  your  head. 

Hotchkiss  [catching  her  wrists  dexterously']  Ive  got 
your  hands. 

Mrs  George.  Youve  not  got  my  teeth.  Let  go;  or 
I'll  bite.     I  will,  I  tell  you.     Let  go. 

Hotchkiss.  Bite  away:  I  shall  taste  quite  as  nice 
as  George. 

Mrs  George.  You  beast.  Let  me  go.  Do  you  call 
yourself  a  gentleman,  to  use  your  brute  strength  against 
a  woman? 

Hotchkiss.  You  are  stronger  than  me  in  every  way 
but  this.  Do  you  think  I  will  give  up  my  one  advantage  ? 
Promise  youll  receive  me  when  I  call  this  afternoon. 

Mrs  George.  After  what  youve  just  done?  Not  if  it 
was  to  save  my  life. 

Hotchkiss.     I'll  amuse  George. 

Mrs  George.     He  wont  be  in. 

Hotchkiss  [taken  aback]  Do  you  mean  that  we 
should  be  alone? 

Mrs  George  [snatching  away  her  hands  triumphantly 
as  his  grasp  relaxes]     Aha!     Thats  cooled  you,  has  it? 

Hotchkiss  [anxiously]  When  will  George  be  at 
home? 

Mrs  George.     It  wont  matter  to  you  whether  he's  at 


Getting  Married  181 

home  or  not.     The  door  will  be  slammed  in  your  face 
whenever  you  call. 

Hotchkiss.  No  servant  in  London  is  strong  enough 
to  close  a  door  that  I  mean  to  keep  open.  You  cant  es- 
cape me.  If  you  persist,  I'll  go  into  the  coal  trade; 
make  George's  acquaintance  on  the  coal  exchange;  and 
coax  him  to  take  me  home  with  him  to  make  your  ac- 
quaintance. 

Mrs  George.  We  have  no  use  for  you,  young  man: 
neither  George  nor  I  [she  sails  away  from  him  and  sits 
down  at  the  end  of  the  table  near  the  study  door], 

Hotchkiss  [following  her  and  taking  the  next  chair 
round  the  corner  of  the  table]  Yes  you  have.  George 
cant  fight  for  you:  I  can. 

Mrs  George  [turning  to  face  him]  You  bully.  You 
low  bully. 

Hotchkiss.  You  have  courage  and  fascination:  I 
have  courage  and  a  pair  of  fists.  We're  both  bullies, 
Polly. 

Mrs  George.  You  have  a  mischievous  tongue.  Thats 
enough  to  keep  you  out  of  my  house. 

Hotchkiss.  It  must  be  rather  a  house  of  cards.  A 
word  from  me  to  George — just  the  right  word,  said  in 
the  right  way — and  down  comes  your  house. 

Mrs  George.  Thats  why  I'll  die  sooner  than  let  you 
into  it. 

Hotchkiss.  Then  as  surely  as  you  live,  I  enter  the 
coal  trade  to-morrow.  George's  taste  for  amusing  com- 
pany will  deliver  him  into  my  hands.  Before  a  month 
passes  your  home  will  be  at  my  mercy. 

Mrs  George  [rising,  at  bay]  Do  you  think  I'll  let 
myself  be  driven  into  a  trap  like  this  ? 

Hotchkiss.  You  are  in  it  already.  Marriage  is  a 
trap.  You  are  married.  Any  man  who  has  the  power 
to  spoil  your  marriage  has  the  power  to  spoil  your  life. 
I  have  that  power  over  you. 


182  Getting  Married 

Mrs  George  [desperate]     You  mean  it? 
Hotchkiss.     I  do. 

Mrs  George  [resolutely]  Well,  spoil  my  marriage 
and  be — 

Hotchkiss  [springing  up]     Polly! 
Mrs  George.     Sooner  than  be  your   slave   I'd  face 
any  unhappiness. 

Hotchkiss.     What!     Even   for  George? 
Mrs    George.      There   must    be    honor    between    me 
and    George,    happiness    or    no    happiness.      Do    your 
worst. 

Hotchkiss  [admiring  her]  Are  you  really  game, 
Polly?     Dare  you  defy  me? 

Mrs  George.  If  you  ask  me  another  question  I  shant 
be  able  to  keep  my  hands  off  you  [she  dashes  distract- 
edly past  him  to  the  other  end  of  the  table,  her  fingers 
crisping] . 

Hotchkiss.  That  settles  it.  Polly:  I  adore  you:  we 
were  born  for  one  another.  As  I  happen  to  be  a  gentle- 
man, I'll  never  do  anything  to  annoy  or  injure  you  ex- 
cept that  I  reserve  the  right  to  give  you  a  black  eye  if 
you  bite  me;  but  youll  never  get  rid  of  me  now  to  the 
end  of  your  life. 

Mrs  George.  I  shall  get  rid  of  you  if  the  beadle  has 
to  brain  you  with  the  mace  for  it  [she  makes  for  the 
tower] . 

Hotchkiss    [running  between  the  table  and  the  oak 

chest  and  across  to  the  tower  to  cut  her  off]     You  shant. 

Mrs  George  [panting]     Shant  I  though? 

Hotchkiss.  No  you  shant.     I  have  one  card  left  to 

play  that  youve   forgotten.     Why  were   you  so   unlike 

yourself  when  you  spoke  to  the  Bishop? 

Mrs  George  [agitated  beyond  measure]  Stop.  Not 
that.  You  shall  respect  that  if  you  respect  nothing  else. 
I  forbid  you.  [He  kneels  at  her  feet].  What  are  you 
doing  ?     Get  up :  dont  be  a  fool. 


Getting  Married  183 

Hotchkiss.  Polly:  I  ask  you  on  my  knees  to  let  me 
make  George's  acquaintance  in  his  home  this  afternoon; 
and  I  shall  remain  on  my  knees  till  the  Bishop  comes  in 
and  sees  us.     What  will  he  think  of  you  then? 

Mrs  George    [beside  herself]     Wheres  the  poker? 

She  rushes  to  the  fireplace;  seizes  the  poker;  and 
makes  for  Hotchkiss,  who  flies  to  the  study  door.  The 
Bishop  enters  just  then  and  finds  himself  between  them, 
narrowly  escaping  a  blow  from  the  poker. 

The  Bishop.  Dont  hit  him,  Mrs  Collins.  He  is  my 
guest. 

Mrs  George  throws  down  the  poker;  collapses  into  the 
nearest  chair;  and  bursts  into  tears.  The  Bishop  goes 
to  her  and  pats  her  consolingly  on  the  shoulder.  She 
shudders  all  through  at  his  touch. 

The  Bishop.  Come!  you  are  in  the  house  of  your 
friends.     Can  we  help  you? 

Mrs  George  [to  Hotchkiss,  pointing  to  the  study] 
Go  in  there,  you.     Youre  not  wanted  here. 

Hotchkiss.  You  understand,  Bishop,  that  Mrs  Col- 
lins is  not  to  blame  for  this  scene.  I'm  afraid  Ive  been 
rather  irritating. 

The  Bishop.     I  can  quite  believe  it,  Sinjon. 

Hotchkiss  goes  into  the  study. 

The  Bishop  [turning  to  Mrs  George  with  great  kind- 
ness of  manner]  I'm  sorry  you  have  been  worried  [he 
sits  down  on  her  left].  Never  mind  him.  A  little  pluck, 
a  little  gaiety  of  heart,  a  little  prayer;  and  youll  be 
laughing  at  him. 

Mrs  George.  Never  fear.  I  have  all  that.  It  was 
as  much  my  fault  as  his;  and  I  should  have  put  him  in 
his  place  with  a  clip  of  that  poker  on  the  side  of  his  head 
if  you  hadnt  come  in. 

The  Bishop.  You  might  have  put  him  in  his  coffin 
that  way,  Mrs  Collins.  And  I  should  have  been  very 
sorry;  because  we  are  all  fond  of  Sinjon. 


184  Getting  Married 

Mrs  George.  Yes :  it's  your  duty  to  rebuke  me.  But 
do  you  think  I  dont  know? 

The  Bishop.  I  dont  rebuke  you.  Who  am  I  that  I 
should  rebuke  you?  Besides,  I  know  there  are  discus- 
sions in  which  the  poker  is  the  only  possible  argument. 

Mrs  George.  My  lord:  be  earnest  with  me.  I'm  a 
very  funny  woman,  I  daresay ;  but  I  come  from  the  same 
workshop  as  you.  I  heard  you  say  that  yourself  years 
ago. 

The  Bishop.  Quite  so;  but  then  I'm  a  very  funny 
Bishop.  Since  we  are  both  funny  people,  let  us  not  for- 
get that  humor  is  a  divine  attribute. 

Mrs  George.  I  know  nothing  about  divine  attributes 
or  whatever  you  call  them;  but  I  can  feel  when  I  am 
being  belittled.  It  was  from  you  that  I  learnt  first  to 
respect  myself.  It  was  through  you  that  I  came  to  be 
able  to  walk  safely  through  many  wild  and  wilful  paths. 
Dont  go  back  on  your  own  teaching. 

The  Bishop.  I'm  not  a  teacher:  only  a  fellow-trav- 
eller of  whom  you  asked  the  way.  I  pointed  ahead 
— ahead  of  myself  as  well  as  of  you. 

Mrs  George  [rising  and  standing  over  him  almost 
threateningly]  As  I'm  a  living  woman  this  day,  if  I  find 
you  out  to  be  a  fraud,  I'll  kill  myself. 

The  Bishop.  What!  Kill  yourself  for  finding  out 
something !  For  becoming  a  wiser  and  therefore  a  better 
woman !    What  a  bad  reason ! 

Mrs  George.  I  have  sometimes  thought  of  killing 
you,  and  then  killing  myself. 

The  Bishop.  Why  on  earth  should  you  kill  yourself 
— not  to  mention  me? 

Mrs  George.  So  that  we  might  keep  our  assignation 
in  Heaven. 

The  Bishop  [rising  and  facing  her,  breathless]  Mrs. 
Collins!     You  are  Incognita  Appassionata ! 

Mrs  George.     You  read  my  letters,  then?     [With  a 


Getting  Married  185 

sigh  of  grateful  relief,  she  sits  down  quietly,  and  says] 
Thank  you. 

The  Bishop  [remorsefully]  And  I  have  broken  the 
spell  by  making  you  come  here  [sitting  down  again]. 
Can  you  ever  forgive  me? 

Mrs  George.  You  couldnt  know  that  it  was  only  the 
coal  merchant's  wife,  could  you? 

The  Bishop.  Why  do  you  say  only  the  coal  mer- 
chant's wife? 

Mrs  George.     Many  people  would  laugh  at  it. 

The  Bishop.  Poor  people !  It's  so  hard  to  know  the 
right  place  to  laugh,  isnt  it? 

Mrs  George.  I  didnt  mean  to  make  you  think  the 
letters  were  from  a  fine  lady.  I  wrote  on  cheap  paper; 
and  I  never  could  spell. 

The  Bishop.  Neither  could  I.  So  that  told  me 
nothing. 

Mrs  George.     One  thing  I  should  like  you  to  know. 

The  Bishop.     Yes? 

Mrs  George.  We  didnt  cheat  your  friend.  They 
were  as  good  as  we  could  do  at  thirteen  shillings  a  ton. 

The  Bishop.  Thats  important.  Thank  you  for  tell- 
ing me. 

Mrs  George.  I  have  something  else  to  say;  but  will 
you  please  ask  somebody  to  come  and  stay  here  while  we 
talk?  [He  rises  and  turns  to  the  study  door].  Not  a 
woman,  if  you  dont  mind.  [He  nods  understandingly 
and  passes  on].     Not  a  man  either. 

The  Bishop  [stopping]  Not  a  man  and  not  a 
woman!  We  have  no  children  left,  Mrs  Collins.  They 
are  all  grown  up  and  married. 

Mrs  George.     That  other  clergyman  would  do. 

The  Bishop.     What!     The  sexton? 

Mrs  George.  Yes.  He  didnt  mind  my  calling  him 
that,  did  he  ?     It  was  only  my  ignorance. 

The  Bishop.     Not  at  all.     [He  opens  the  study  door 


186  Getting  Married 

and  calls]  Soames!  Anthony!  [To  Mrs  George]  Call 
him  Father:  he  likes  it.  [Soames  appears  at  the  study 
door].     Mrs  Collins  wishes  you  to  join  us,  Anthony. 

Soames  looks  puzzled. 

Mrs  George.  You  dont  mind,  Dad,  do  you?  [As 
this  greeting  visibly  gives  him  a  shock  that  hardly  bears 
out  the  Bishop's  advice,  she  says  anxiously]  That  was 
what  you  told  me  to  call  him,  wasnt  it? 

Soames.  I  am  called  Father  Anthony,  Mrs  Collins. 
But  it  does  not  matter  what  you  call  me.  [He  comes  in, 
and  walks  past  her  to  the  hearth]. 

The  Bishop.  Mrs  Collins  has  something  to  say  to 
me  that  she  wants  you  to  hear. 

Soames.     I  am  listening. 

The  Bishop  [going  back  to  his  seat  next  her]     Now. 

Mrs  George.  My  lord:  you  should  never  have  mar- 
ried. 

Soames.  This  woman  is  inspired.  Listen  to  her,  my 
lord. 

The  Bishop  [taken  aback  by  the  directness  of  the  at- 
tack] I  married  because  I  was  so  much  in  love  with 
Alice  that  all  the  difficulties  and  doubts  and  dangers  of 
marriage  seemed  Xj6  me  the  merest  moonshine. 

Mrs  George.  Yes:  it's  mean  to  let  poor  things  in 
for  so  much  while  theyre  in  that  state.  Would  you 
marry  now  that  you  know  better  if  you  were  a  wid- 
ower? 

The  Bishop.     I'm  old  now.     It  wouldnt  matter. 

Mrs  George.     But  would  you  if  it  did  matter? 

The  Bishop.  I  think  I  should  marry  again  lest  any- 
one should  imagine  I  had  found  marriage  unhappy  with 
Alice. 

Soames  [sternly]  Are  you  fonder  of  your  wife  than 
of  your  salvation? 

The  Bishop.  Oh,  very  much.  When  you  meet  a  man 
who  is  very  particular  about  his  salvation,  look  out  for  a 


Getting  Married  187 

woman  who  is  very  particular  about  her  character;  and 
marry  them  to  one  another:  theyll  make  a  perfect  pair. 
I  advise  you  to  fall  in  love,  Anthony. 
Soames  [with  horror]      I!! 

The  Bishop.  Yes,  you!  think  of  what  it  would  do 
for  you.  For  her  sake  you  would  come  to  care  un- 
selfishly and  diligently  for  money  instead  of  being 
selfishly  and  lazily  indifferent  to  it.  For  her  sake  you 
would  come  to  care  in  the  same  way  for  preferment.  For 
her  sake  you  would  come  to  care  for  your  health,  your 
appearance,  the  good  opinion  of  your  fellow  creatures, 
and  all  the  really  important  things  that  make  men  work 
and  strive  instead  of  mooning  and  nursing  their  sal- 
vation. 

Soames.  In  one  word,  for  the  sake  of  one  deadly  sin  I 
should  come  to  care  for  all  the  others. 

The  Bishop.  Saint  Anthony!  Tempt  him,  Mrs 
Collins:  tempt  him. 

Mrs  George  [rising  and  looking  strangely  before 
her]  Take  care,  my  lord:  you  still  have  the  power  to 
make  me  obey  your  commands.  And  do  you,  Mr  Sexton, 
beware  of  an  empty  heart. 

The  Bishop.  Yes.  Nature  abhors  a  vacuum,  An- 
thony. I  would  not  dare  go  about  with  an  empty  heart: 
why,  the  first  girl  I  met  would  fly  into  it  by  mere  at- 
mospheric pressure.  Alice  keeps  them  out  now.  Mrs 
Collins  knows. 

Mrs  George  [a  faint  convulsion  passing  like  a  wave 
over  her]  I  know  more  than  either  of  you.  One  of  you 
has  not  yet  exhausted  his  first  love :  the  other  has  not  yet 
reached  it.  But  I — I — [she  reels  and  is  again  con- 
vulsed]. 

The  Bishop  [saving  her  from  falling]  Whats  the 
matter?  Are  you  ill,  Mrs  Collins?  [He  gets  her  back 
into  her  chair].  Soames:  theres  a  glass  of  water  in  the 
study — quick.     [Soames  hurries  to  the  study  door]. 


188  Getting  Married 

Mrs  George.  No.  [Soames  stops].  Dont  call. 
Dont  bring  anyone.     Cant  you  hear  anything? 

The  Bishop.  Nothing  unusual.  [He  sits  by  her, 
watching  her  with  intense  surprise  and  interest]. 

Mrs  George.     No  music? 

Soames.  No.  [He  steals  to  the  end  of  the  table  and 
sits  on  her  right,  equally  interested], 

Mrs  George.     Do  you  see  nothing — not  a  great  light? 

The  Bishop.     We  are  still  walking  in  darkness. 

Mrs  George.  Put  your  hand  on  my  forehead:  the 
hand  with  the  ring.     [He  does  so.    Her  eyes  close]. 

Soames  [inspired  to  prophesy]  There  was  a  certain 
woman,  the  wife  of  a  coal  merchant,  which  had  been  a 
great  sinner — 

The  Bishop,  startled,  takes  his  hand  away.  Mrs 
George*s  eyes  open  vividly  as  she  interrupts  Soames. 

Mrs  George.  You  prophesy  falsely,  Anthony:  never 
in  all  my  life  have  I  done  anything  that  was  not  or- 
dained for  me.  [More  quietly]  Ive  been  myself.  Ive 
not  been  afraid  of  myself.  And  at  last  I  have  escaped 
from  myself,  and  am  become  a  voice  for  them  that  are 
afraid  to  speak,  and  a  cry  for  the  hearts  that  break  in 
silence. 

Soames  [whispering]     Is  she  inspired? 

The  Bishop.     Marvellous.     Hush. 

Mrs  George.  I  have  earned  the  right  to  speak.  I 
have  dared:  I  have  gone  through:  I  have  not  fallen  with- 
ered in  the  fire:  I  have  come  at  last  out  beyond,  to  the 
back  of  Godspeed? 

The  Bishop.  And  what  do  you  see  there,  at  the  back 
of  Godspeed? 

Soames  [hungrily]     Give  us  your  message. 

Mrs  George  [with  intensely  sad  reproach]  When 
you  loved  me  I  gave  you  the  whole  sun  and  stars  to  play 
with.  I  gave  you  eternity  in  a  single  moment,  strength 
of  the  mountains  in  one  clasp  of  your  arms,  and  the  vol- 


Getting  Married  189 

ume  of  all  the  seas  in  one  impulse  of  your  souls.  A  mo- 
ment only;  but  was  it  not  enough?  Were  you  not  paid 
then  for  all  the  rest  of  your  struggle  on  earth?  Must 
I  mend  your  clothes  and  sweep  your  floors  as  well?  Was 
it  not  enough?  I  paid  the  price  without  bargaining:  I 
bore  the  children  without  flinching:  was  that  a  reason 
for  heaping  fresh  burdens  on  me?  I  carried  the  child 
in  my  arms:  must  I  carry  the  father  too?  When  I 
opened  the  gates  of  paradise,  were  you  blind?  was  it 
nothing  to  you?  When  all  the  stars  sang  in  your  ears 
and  all  the  winds  swept  you  into  the  heart  of  heaven, 
were  you  deaf?  were  you  dull?  was  I  no  more  to  you 
than  a  bone  to  a  dog?  Was  it  not  enough?  We  spent 
eternity  together;  and  you  ask  me  for  a  little  lifetime 
more.  We  possessed  all  the  universe  together;  and  you 
ask  me  to  give  you  my  scanty  wages  as  well.  I  have 
given  you  the  greatest  of  all  things;  and  you  ask  me 
to  give  you  little  things.  I  gave  you  your  own  soul: 
you  ask  me  for  my  body  as  a  plaything.  Was  it  not 
enough?     Was  it  not  enough? 

Soames.     Do  you  understand  this,  my  lord? 

The  Bishop.  I  have  that  advantage  over  you,  An- 
thony, thanks  to  Alice.  [He  takes  Mrs  George's  hand]. 
Your  hand  is  very  cold.  Can  you  come  down  to  earth? 
Do  you  remember  who  I  am,  and  who  you  are? 

Mrs  George.  It  was  enough  for  me.  I  did  not  ask 
to  meet  you — to  touch  you — [the  Bishop  quickly  releases 
her  hand].  When  you  spoke  to  my  soul  years  ago  from 
your  pulpit,  you  opened  the  doors  of  my  salvation  to  me ; 
and  now  they  stand  open  for  ever.  It  was  enough:  I 
have  asked  you  for  nothing  since:  I  ask  you  for  nothing 
now.  I  have  lived:  it  is  enough.  I  have  had  my  wages; 
and  I  am  ready  for  my  work.  I  thank  you  and  bless  you 
and  leave  you.  You  are  happier  in  that  than  I  am;  for 
when  I  do  for  men  what  you  did  for  me,  I  have  no 
thanks,  and  no  blessing:  I  am  their  prey;  and  there  is 


190  Getting  Married 

no  rest  from  their  loving  and  no  mercy  from  their 
loathing. 

The  Bishop.  You  must  take  us  as  we  are,  Mrs 
Collins. 

Soames.  No.  Take  us  as  we  are  capable  of  be- 
coming. 

Mrs  George.  Take  me  as  I  am:  I  ask  no  more. 
[She  turns  her  head  to  the  study  door  and  cries]  Yes: 
come  in,  come  in. 

Hotchkiss  comes  softly  in  from  the  study. 

Hotchkiss.  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  tell  me  whether 
I  am  dreaming?  In  there  I  have  heard  Mrs  Collins  say- 
ing the  strangest  things,  and  not  a  syllable  from  you 
two. 

Soames.     My  lord;  is  this  possession  by  the  devil? 

The  Bishop.     Or  the  ecstasy  of  a  saint? 

Hotchkiss.  Or  the  convulsion  of  the  pythoness  on 
the  tripod? 

The  Bishop.     May  not  the  three  be  one? 

Mrs  George  [troubled]  You  are  paining  and  tiring 
me  with  idle  questions.  You  are  dragging  me  back  to 
myself.  You  are  tormenting  me  with  your  evil  dreams 
of  saints  and  devils  and — what  was  it? — [striving  to 
fathom  it]  the  pythoness — the  pythoness — [giving  it 
up]  I  dont  understand.  I  am  a  woman:  a  human  crea- 
ture like  yourselves.     Will  you  not  take  me  as  I  am? 

Soames.     Yes;  but  shall  we  take  you  and  burn  you? 

The  Bishop.     Or  take  you  and  canonize  you? 

Hotchkiss  [gaily]  Or  take  you  as  a  matter  of  course? 
[Swiftly  to  the  Bishop]  We  must  get  her  out  of  this: 
it's  dangerous.  [Aloud  to  her]  May  I  suggest  that 
you  shall  be  Anthony's  devil  and  the  Bishop's  saint 
and  my  adored  Polly?  [Slipping  behind  her,  he  picks 
up  her  hand  from  her  lap  and  kisses  it  over  her 
shoulder] . 

Mrs  George  [waking]    What  was  that?    Who  kissed 


Getting  Married  191 

my  hand?  [To  the  Bishop,  eagerly]  Was  it  you?  [He 
shakes  his  head.  She  is  mortified].  I  beg  your 
pardon. 

The  Bishop.  Not  at  all.  I'm  not  repudiating  that 
honor.     Allow  me   [he  kisses  her  hand]. 

Mrs  George.  Thank  you  for  that.  It  was  not  the 
sexton,  was  it? 

Soames.     I ! 

Hotchkiss.     It  was  I,  Polly,  your  ever  faithful. 

Mrs  George  [turning  and  seeing  him]  Let  me  catch 
you  doing  it  again:  thats  all.  How  do  you  come  there? 
I  sent  you  away.  [With  great  energy,  becoming  quite 
herself  again]  What  the  goodness  gracious  has  been 
happening? 

Hotchkiss.  As  far  as  I  can  make  out,  you  have  been 
having  a  very  charming  and  eloquent  sort  of  fit. 

Mrs  George  [delighted]  What!  My  second  sight! 
[To  the  Bishop]  Oh,  how  I  have  prayed  that  it  might 
come  to  me  if  ever  I  met  you!  And  now  it  has  come. 
How  stunning!  You  may  believe  every  word  I  said:  I 
cant  remember  it  now;  but  it  was  something  that  was  just 
bursting  to  be  said;  and  so  it  laid  hold  of  me  and  said 
itself.     Thats  how  it  is,  you  see. 

Edith  and  Cecil  Sykes  come  in  through  the  toner. 
She  has  her  hat  on.  Leo  follows.  They  have  evidently 
been  out  together.  Sykes,  with  an  unnatural  air,  half 
foolish,  half  rakish,  as  if  he  had  lost  all  his  self-respect 
and  were  determined  not  to  let  it  prey  on  his  spirits, 
throws  himself  into  a  chair  at  the  end  of  the  table  near 
the  hearth  and  thrusts  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  like 
Hogarth's  Rake,  without  waiting  for  Edith  to  sit  down. 
She  sits  in  the  railed  chair.  Leo  takes  the  chair  nearest 
the  tower  on  the  long  side  of  the  table,  brooding,  with 
closed  lips. 

The  Bishop.     Have  you  been  out,  my  dear? 

Edith.     Yes. 


192  Getting  Married 

The  Bishop.     With  Cecil? 

Edith.     Yes. 

The  Bishop.     Have  you  come  to  an  understanding? 

No  reply.     Blank  silence. 

Sykes.     You  had  better  tell  them,  Edie. 

Edith.     Tell  them  yourself. 

The  General  comes  in  from  the  garden. 

The  General  [coming  forward  to  the  table]  Can 
anybody  oblige  me  with  some  tobacco?  Ive  finished 
mine;  and  my  nerves  are  still  far  from  settled. 

The  Bishop.  Wait  a  moment,  Boxer.  Cecil  has 
something  important  to  tell  us. 

Sykes.     Weve  done  it.    Thats  alL 

Hotchkiss.     Done  what,  Cecil? 

Sykes.     Well,  what  do  you  suppose? 

Edith.     Got  married,  of  course. 

The  General.     Married!     Who  gave  you  away? 

Sykes  [jerking  his  head  towards  the  tower]  This 
gentleman  did.  [Seeing  that  they  do  not  understand,  he 
looks  round  and  sees  that  there  is  no  one  there].  Oh!  I 
thought  he  came  in  with  us.  Hes  gone  downstairs,  I 
suppose.    The  Beadle. 

The  General.  The  Beadle !  What  the  devil  did  he 
do  that  for? 

Sykes.  Oh,  I  dont  know:  I  didnt  make  any  bargain 
with  him.  [To  Mrs  George]  How  much  ought  I  to  give 
him,  Mrs  Collins? 

Mrs  George.  Five  shillings.  [To  the  Bishop]  I 
want  to  rest  for  a  moment :  there !  in  your  study.  I  saw 
it  here  [she  touches  her  forehead]. 

The  Bishop  [opening  the  study  door  for  her]  By  all 
means.  Turn  my  brother  out  if  he  disturbs  you. 
Soames:  bring  the  letters  out  here. 

Sykes.  He  wont  be  offended  at  my  offering  it,  will 
he? 

Mrs  George.     Not  he !    He  touches  children  with  the 


Getting  Married  193 

mace  to  cure  them  of  ringworm  for  fourpence  apiece. 
[She  goes  into  the   study.      Soames   follows   her]. 

The  General.  Well,  Edith,  I'm  a  little  disap- 
pointed, I  must  say.  However,  I'm  glad  it  was  done  by 
somebody  in  a  public  uniform. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth  and  Lesbia  come  in  through  the 
tower.  Mrs  Bridgenorth  makes  for  the  Bishop.  He 
goes  to  her,  and  they  meet  near  the  oak  chest.  Lesbia 
comes  between  Sykes  and  Edith. 

The  Bishop.     Alice,  my  love,  theyre  married. 
Mrs    Bridgenorth    [placidly]      Oh,   well,  thats    all 
right.     Better  tell  Collins. 

Soames  comes  back  from  the  study  with  his  writing 
materials.  He  seats  himself  at  the  nearest  end  of  the 
table  and  goes  on  with  his  work.  Hotchkiss  sits  down 
in  the  next  chair  round  the  table  corner,  with  his  bach 
to  him. 

Lesbia.     You  have  both  given  in,  have  you? 
Edith.     Not   at  all.     We  have   provided   for   every- 
thing. 

Soames.     How? 

Edith.  Before  going  to  the  church,  we  went  to  the 
office  of  that  insurance  company — whats  its  name, 
Cecil? 

Sykes.     The   British   Family   Insurance   Corporation.  J      , 
It   insures   you  against  poor   relations   and   all  sorts   of  J  * 
family  contingencies. 

Edith.  It  has  consented  to  insure  Cecil  against  libel 
actions  brought  against  him  on  my  account.  It  will  give 
us  specially  low  terms  because  I  am  a  Bishop's  daughter. 
Sykes.  And  I  have  given  Edie  my  solemn  word  that 
if  I  ever  commit  a  crime  I'll  knock  her  down  before  a 
witness  and  go  off  to  Brighton  with  another  lady. 

Lesbia.  Thats  what  you  call  providing  for  every- 
thing! [She  goes  to  the  middle  of  the  table  on  the  gar- 
den side  and  sits  down]. 


194  Getting  Married 

Leo.  Do  make  him  see  there  are  no  worms  before  he 
knocks  you  down,  Edith.     Wheres  Rejjy? 

Reginald  [coming  in  from  the  study]  Here.  Whats 
the  matter? 

Leo  [springing  up  and  flouncing  round  to  him] 
Whats  the  matter !  You  may  well  ask.  While  Edie  and 
Cecil  were  at  the  insurance  office  I  took  a  taxy  and  went 
off  to  your  lodgings ;  and  a  nice  mess  I  found  everything 
in.  Your  clothes  are  in  a  disgraceful  state.  Your  liver- 
pad  has  been  made  into  a  kettle-holder.  Youre  no  more 
fit  to  be  left  to  yourself  than  a  one-year  old  baby. 

Reginald.  Oh,  I  cant  be  bothered  looking  after 
things  like  that.     I'm  all  right. 

Leo.  Youre  not:  youre  a  disgrace.  You  never  con- 
sider that  youre  a  disgrace  to  me:  you  think  only  of 
yourself.  You  must  come  home  with  me  and  be  taken 
proper  care  of:  my  conscience  will  not  allow  me  to  let 
you  live  like  a  pig.  [She  arranges  his  necktie].  You 
must  stay  with  me  until  I  marry  St  John;  and  then  we 
can  adopt  you  or  something. 

Reginald  [breaking  loose  from  her  and  stumping  off 
past  Hotchkiss  towards  the  hearth]  No,  I'm  dashed  if 
I'll  be  adopted  by  St  John.  You  can  adopt  him  if  you 
like. 

Hotchkiss  [rising]  I  suggest  that  that  would  really 
be  the  better  plan,  Leo.  Ive  a  confession  to  make  to  you. 
I'm  not  the  man  you  took  me  for.  Your  objection  to 
Rejjy  was  that  he  had  low  tastes. 

Reginald  [turning]     Was  it?  by  George! 

Leo.  I  said  slovenly  habits.  I  never  thought  he  had 
really  low  tastes  until  I  saw  that  woman  in  court.  How 
he  could  have  chosen  such  a  creature  and  let  her  write 
to  him  after — 

Reginald.     Is  this  fair?     I  never — 

Hotchkiss.  Of  course  you  didnt,  Rejjy.  Dont  be 
silly,  Leo.     It's  I  who  really  have  low  tastes. 


Getting  Married  195 

Leo.     You  ! 

Hotchkiss.  Ive  fallen  in  love  with  a  coal  merchant's 
wife.  I  adore  her.  I  would  rather  have  one  of  her 
boot-laces  than  a  lock  of  your  hair.  [He  folds  his  arms 
and  stands  like  a  rock]. 

Reginald.  You  damned  scoundrel,  how  dare  you 
throw  my  wife  over  like  that  before  my  face?  [He 
seems  on  the  point  of  assaulting  Hotchkiss  when  Leo 
gets  between  them  and  draws  Reginald  away  towards  the 
study  door], 

Leo.  Dont  take  any  notice  of  him,  Rejjy.  Go  at 
once  and  get  that  odious  decree  demolished  or  annulled 
or  whatever  it  is.  Tell  Sir  Gorell  Barnes  that  I  have 
changed  my  mind.  [To  Hotchkiss]  I  might  have 
known  that  you  were  too  clever  to  be  really  a  gentleman. 
[She  takes  Reginald  away  to  the  oak  chest  and  seats 
him  there.  He  chuckles.  Hotchkiss  resumes  his  seat, 
brooding] . 

The  Bishop.  All  the  problems  appear  to  be  solving 
themselves. 

Lesbia.     Except  mine. 

The  General.  But,  my  dear  Lesbia,  you  see  what 
has  happened  here  to-day.  [Coming  a  little  nearer  and 
bending  his  face  towards  hers]  Now  I  put  it  to  you, 
does  it  not  shew  you  the  folly  of  not  marrying? 

Lesbia.  No:  I  cant  say  it  does.  And  [rising]  you 
have  been  smoking  again. 

The  General.  You  drive  me  to  it,  Lesbia.  I  cant 
help  it. 

Lesbia  [standing  behind  her  chair  with  her  hands  on 
the  back  of  it  and  looking  radiant]  Well,  I  wont  scold 
you  to-day.  I  feel  in  particularly  good  humor  just 
now. 

The  General.     May  I  ask  why,  Lesbia? 

Lesbia  [drawing  a  large  breath]  To  think  that  after 
all  the  dangers  of  the  morning  I  am  still  unmarried !  still 


196  Getting  Married 

independent!  still  my  own  mistress!  still  a  glorious 
strong-minded  old  maid  of  old  England! 

Soames  silently  springs  up  and  makes  a  long  stretch 
from  his  end  of  the  table  to  shake  her  hand  across  it. 

The  General.  Do  you  find  any  real  happiness  in 
being  your  own  mistress?  Would  it  not  be  more  gen- 
erous— would  you  not  be  happier  as  some  one  else's  mis- 
tress— 

Lesbia.     Boxer ! 

The  General  [rising,  horrified]  No,  no,  you  must 
know,  my  dear  Lesbia,  that  I  was  not  using  the  word  in 
its  improper  sense.  I  am  sometimes  unfortunate  in  my 
choice  of  expressions;  but  you  know  what  I  mean.  I 
feel  sure  you  would  be  happier  as  my  wife. 

Lesbia.  I  daresay  I  should,  in  a  frowsy  sort  of 
way.  But  I  prefer  my  dignity  and  my  independence. 
I'm  afraid  I  think  this  rage  for  happiness  rather 
vulgar. 

The  General.  Oh,  very  well,  Lesbia.  I  shall  not 
ask  you  again.     [He  sits  down  huffily]. 

Lesbia.  You  will,  Boxer;  but  it  will  be  no  use.  [She 
also  sits  down  again  and  puts  her  hand  almost  affec- 
tionately on  his].  Some  day  I  hope  to  make  a  friend  of 
you;  and  then  we  shall  get  on  very  nicely. 

The  General  [starting  up  again]  Ha !  I  think  you 
are  hard,  Lesbia.  I  shall  make  a  fool  of  myself  if  I  re- 
main here.  Alice:  I  shall  go  into  the  garden  for  a 
while. 

Collins  [appearing  in  the  tower]  I  think  everything 
is  in  order  now,  maam. 

The  General  [going  to  him]  Oh,  by  the  way,  could 
you  oblige  me — [the  rest  of  the  sentence  is  lost  in  a 
whisper], 

Collins.  Certainly,  General.  [He  takes  out  a  to- 
bacco pouch  and  hands  it  to  the  General,  who  takes  it 
and  goes  into  the  garden]. 


Getting  Married  197 

Lesbia.  I  dont  believe  theres  a  man  in  England  who  / 
really  and  truly  loves  his  wife  as  much  as  he  loves  hisj 
pipe. 

The  Bishop.  By  the  way,  what  has  happened  to  the 
wedding  party? 

Sykes.  I  dont  know.  There  wasnt  a  soul  in  the 
church  when  we  were  married  except  the  pew  opener 
and  the  curate  who  did  the  job. 

Edith.     They  had  all  gone  home. 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.     But  the  bridesmaids? 

Collins.  Me  and  the  beadle  have  been  all  over  the 
place  in  a  couple  of  taxies,  maam;  and  weve  collected 
them  all.  They  were  a  good  deal  disappointed  on  ac- 
count of  their  dresses,  and  thought  it  rather  irregu- 
lar; but  theyve  agreed  to  come  to  the  breakfast. 
The  truth  is,  theyre  wild  with  curiosity  to  know  how 
it  all  happened.  The  organist  held  on  until  the  or- 
gan was  nigh  worn  out,  and  himself  worse  than  the 
organ.  He  asked  me  particularly  to  tell  you,  my  lord, 
that  he  held  back  Mendelssohn  till  the  very  last;  but 
when  that  was  gone  he  thought  he  might  as  well  go 
too.  So  he  played  God  Save  The  King  and  cleared 
out  the  church.  He's  coming  to  the  breakfast  to  ex- 
plain. 

Leo.  Please  remember,  Collins,  that  there  is  no  truth 
whatever  in  the  rumor  that  I  am  separated  from  my  hus- 
band, or  that  there  is,  or  ever  has  been,  anything  between 
me  and  Mr  Hotchkiss. 

Collins.  Bless  you,  maam !  one  could  always  see 
that.  [To  Mrs  Bridgenorth]  Will  you  receive  here  or 
in  the  hall,  maam? 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  In  the  hall.  Alfred:  you  and 
Boxer  must  go  there  and  be  ready  to  keep  the  first  ar- 
rivals talking  till  we  come.  We  have  to  dress  Edith. 
Come,  Lesbia:  come,  Leo:  we  must  all  help.  Now, 
Edith.      [Lesbia,  Leo,  and  Edith  go  out   through   the 


198  Getting  Married 

tower],  Collins:  we  shall  want  you  when  Miss  Edith's 
dressed  to  look  over  her  veil  and  things  and  see  that 
theyre  all  right 

Collins.  Yes,  maam.  Anything  you  would  like 
mentioned  about  Miss  Lesbia,  maam? 

Mrs  Bridgenorth.  No.  She  wont  have  the  Gen- 
eral.    I  think  you  may  take  that  as  final. 

Collins.  What  a  pity,  maam!  A  fine  lady  wasted, 
maam.  [They  shake  their  heads  sadly;  and  Mrs  Bridge- 
north  goes  out  through  the  tower]. 

The  Bishop.  I'm  going  to  the  hall,  Collins,  to  re- 
ceive. Rejjy:  go  and  tell  Boxer;  and  come  both  of  you 
to  help  with  the  small  talk.  Come,  Cecil.  [He  goes  out 
through  the  tower,  followed  by  Sykes], 

Reginald  [to  Hotchkiss]  Youve  always  talked  a 
precious  lot  about  behaving  like  a  gentleman.  Well,  if 
you  think  youve  behaved  like  a  gentleman  to  Leo,  youre 
mistaken.  And  I  shall  have  to  take  her  part,  remember 
that. 

Hotchkiss.  I  understand.  Your  doors  are  closed 
to  me. 

Reginald  [quickly]  Oh  no.  Dont  be  hasty.  I  think 
I  should  like  you  to  drop  in  after  a  while,  you  know. 
She  gets  so  cross  and  upset  when  theres  nobody  to  liven 
up  the  house  a  bit. 

Hotchkiss.     I'll  do  my  best. 

Reginald  [relieved]  Righto.  You  dont  mind,  old 
chap,  do  you? 

Hotchkiss.  It's  Fate.  Ive  touched  coal;  and  my 
hands  are  black;  but  theyre  clean.  So  long,  Rejjy. 
[They  shake  hands;  and  Reginald  goes  into  the  garden 
to  collect  Boxer], 

Collins.  Excuse  me,  sir;  but  do  you  stay  to  break- 
fast? Your  name  is  on  one  of  the  covers;  and  I  should 
like  to  change  it  if  youre  not  remaining. 

Hotchkiss.  How   do    I    know?      Is   my   destiny  any 


Getting  Married  199 

longer  in  my  own  hands?     Go:  ask  she  who  must  be 

OBEYED. 

Collins  [awestruck]  Has  Mrs  George  taken  a  fancy 
to  you,  sir? 

Hotchkiss.  Would  she  had!  Worse,  man,  worse: 
Ive  taken  a  fancy  to  Mrs  George. 

Collins.  Dont  despair,  sir:  if  George  likes  your 
conversation  youll  find  their  house  a  very  pleasant  one: 
livelier  than  Mr  Reginald's  was,  I  daresay. 

Hotchkiss  [calling]     Polly. 

Collins  [promptly]  Oh,  if  it's  come  to  Polly  already, 
sir,  I  should  say  you  were  all  right. 

Mrs  George  appears  at  the  door  of  the  study. 

Hotchkiss.  Your  brother-in-law  wishes  to  know 
whether  I'm  to  stay  for  the  wedding  breakfast.  Tell 
him. 

Mrs  George.  He  stays,  Bill,  if  he  chooses  to  behave 
himself. 

Hotchkiss  [to  Collins]  May  I,  as  a  friend  of  the 
family,  have  the  privilege  of  calling  you  Bill? 

Collins.     With  pleasure,  sir,  I'm  sure,  sir. 

Hotchkiss.  My  own  pet  name  in  the  bosom  of  my 
family  is  Sonny. 

Mrs  George.  Why  didnt  you  tell  me  that  before? 
Sonny  is  just  the  name  I  wanted  for  you.  [She  pats  his 
cheek  familiarly:  he  rises  abruptly  and  goes  to  the 
hearth,  where  he  throws  himself  moodily  into  the  ruled 
chair]  Bill:  I'm  not  going  into  the  hall  until  there  are 
enough  people  there  to  make  a  proper  little  court  for  me. 
Send  the  Beadle  for  me  when  you  think  it  looks  good 
enough. 

Collins.  Right,  maam.  [He  goes  out  through  the 
tower], 

Mrs  George  left  alone  with  Hotchlciss  and  Soames, 
suddenly  puts  her  hands  on  Soames's  shoulders  and 
bends  over  him. 


200  Getting  Married 

Mrs  George.  The  Bishop  said  I  was  to  tempt  you, 
Anthony. 

Soames   [without  looking  round]      Woman:  go  away. 
Mrs  George.     Anthony: 

"  When  other  lips  and  other  hearts 
Their  tale  of  love  shall  tell 
Hotchkiss   [sardonically] 

In  language  whose  excess  imparts 
The  power  they  feel  so  well. 
Mrs  George. 

Though  hollow  hearts  may  wear  a  mask 
Twould  break  your  own  to  see, 
In  such  a  moment  I  but  ask 
That  youll  remember  me." 
And  you  will,  Anthony.     I  shall  put  my  spell  on  you. 

Soames.  Do  you  think  that  a  man  who  has  sung  the 
Magnificat  and  adored  the  Queen  of  Heaven  has  any 
ears  for  such  trash  as  that  or  any  eyes  for  such  trash  as 
you — saving  your  poor  little  soul's  presence.  Go  home 
to  your  duties,  woman. 

Mrs  George  [highly  approving  his  fortitude]  An- 
thony :  I  adopt  you  as  my  father.  Thats  the  talk !  Give 
me  a  man  whose  whole  life  doesnt  hang  on  some  scrubby 
woman  in  the  next  street;  and  I'll  never  let  him  go  [she 
slaps  him  heartily  on  the  back], 

Soames.  Thats  enough.  You  have  another  man  to 
talk  to.     I'm  busy. 

Mrs  George  [leaving  Soames  and  going  a  step  or  two 
nearer  Hotchkiss]  Why  arnt  you  like  him,  Sonny? 
Why  do  you  hang  on  to  a  scrubby  woman  in  the  next 
street  ? 

Hotchkiss  [thoughtfully]  I  must  apologize  to 
Billiter. 

Mrs  George.     Who  is  Billiter? 

Hotchkiss.  A  man  who  eats  rice  pudding  with  a 
spoon.     Ive  been  eating  rice  pudding  with  a  spoon  ever 


Getting  Married  201 

since  I  saw  you  first.  [He  rises].  We  all  eat  our  rice 
pudding  with  a  spoon,  dont  we,  Soames? 

Soames.  We  are  members  of  one  another.  There  is 
no  need  to  refer  to  me.  In  the  first  place,  I'm  busy:  in 
the  second,  youll  find  it  all  in  the  Church  Catechism, 
which  contains  most  of  the  new  discoveries  with  which 
the  age  is  bursting.  Of  course  you  should  apologize  to 
Billiter.  He  is  your  equal.  He  will  go  to  the  same 
heaven  if  he  behaves  himself  and  to  the  same  hell  if  he 
doesnt. 

Mrs  George  [sitting  down]  And  so  will  my  husband 
the  coal  merchant. 

Hotchkiss.  If  I  were  your  husband's  superior  here 
I  should  be  his  superior  in  heaven  or  hell:  equality  lies 
deeper  than  that.  The  coal  merchant  and  I  are  in  love 
with  the  same  woman.  That  settles  the  question  for  me 
for  ever.  [He  prowls  across  the  kitchen  to  the  garden 
door,  deep  in  thought], 

Soamfs.     Psha ! 

Mrs  George.  You  dont  believe  in  women,  do  you, 
Anthony?  He  might  as  well  say  that  he  and  George 
both  like  fried  fish. 

Hotchkiss.  I  do  not  like  fried  fish.  Dont  be  low, 
Polly. 

Soames.  Woman :  do  not  presume  to  accuse  me  of  un- 
belief. And  do  you,  Hotchkiss,  not  despise  this  woman's 
soul  because  she  speaks  of  fried  fish.  Some  of  the  vic- 
tims of  the  Miraculous  Draught  of  Fishes  were  fried. 
And  I  eat  fried  fish  every  Friday  and  like  it.  You  are 
as  ingrained  a  snob  as  ever. 

Hotchkiss  [impatiently]  My  dear  Anthony:  I  find 
you  merely  ridiculous  as  a  preacher,  because  you  keep 
referring  me  to  places  and  documents  and  alleged  occur- 
rences in  which,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  dont  believe.  I 
dont  believe  in  anything  but  my  own  will  and  my  own 
pride  and  honor.     Your  fishes  and  your  catechisms  and 


202  Getting  Married 

all  the  rest  of  it  make  a  charming  poem  which  you  call 
your  faith.  It  fits  you  to  perfection;  but  it  doesnt  fit 
me.  I  happen,  like  Napoleon,  to  prefer  Mohammedanism. 
[Mrs  George,  associating  Mohammedanism  with  polyg- 
amy, looks  at  him  with  quick  suspicion].  I  believe  the 
whole  British  Empire  will  adopt  a  reformed  Moham- 
medanism before  the  end  of  the  century.  The  character 
of  Mahomet  is  congenial  to  me.  I  admire  him,  and  share 
his  views  of  life  to  a  considerable  extent.  That  beats  you, 
you  see,  Soames.  Religion  is  a  great  force — the  only  real 
motive  force  in  the  world ;  but  what  you  fellows  dont  un- 
derstand is  that  you  must  get  at  a  man  through  his  own 
religion  and  not  through  yours.  Instead  of  facing  that 
fact,  you  persist  in  trying  to  convert  all  men  to  your 
own  little  sect,  so  that  you  can  use  it  against  them  after- 
wards. You  are  all  missionaries  and  proselytizers  trying 
to  uproot  the  native  religion  from  your  neighbor's  flower- 
beds and  plant  your  own  in  its  place.  You  would  rather 
let  a  child  perish  in  ignorance  than  have  it  taught  by  a 
rival  sectary.  You  can  talk  to  me  of  the  quintessential 
equality  of  coal  merchants  and  British  officers;  and  yet 
you  cant  see  the  quintessential  equality  of  all  the  re- 
ligions. Who  are  you,  anyhow,  that  you  should  know 
better  than  Mahomet  or  Confucius  or  any  of  the  other 
Johnnies  who  have  been  on  this  job  since  the  world 
existed  ? 

Mrs  George  [admiring  his  eloquence]  George  will 
like  you,  Sonny.  You  should  hear  him  talking  about  the 
Church. 

Soames.  Very  well,  then:  go  to  your  doom,  both  of 
you.  There  is  only  one  religion  for  me:  that  which  my 
soul  knows  to  be  true;  but  even  irreligion  has  one  tenet; 
and  that  is  the  sacredness  of  marriage.  You  two  are 
on  the  verge  of  deadly  sin.     Do  you  deny  that? 

Hotchkiss.  You  forget,  Anthony:  the  marriage  it- 
self is  the  deadly  sin  according  to  you. 


Getting  Married  203 

Soames.  The  question  is  not  now  what  I  believe,  but 
what  you  believe.  Take  the  vows  with  me;  and  give  up 
that  woman  if  you  have  the  strength  and  the  light.  But 
if  you  are  still  in  the  grip  of  this  world,  at  least  respect 
its  institutions.  Do  you  believe  in  marriage  or  do  you 
not? 

Hotchkiss.  My  soul  is  utterly  free  from  any  such 
superstition.  I  solemnly  declare  that  between  this 
woman,  as  you  impolitely  call  her,  and  me,  I  see  no  bar- 
rier that  my  conscience  bids  me  respect.  I  loathe  the 
whole  marriage  morality  of  the  middle  classes  with  all 
my  instincts.  If  I  were  an  eighteenth  century  marquis 
I  could  feel  no  more  free  with  regard  to  a  Parisian  cit- 
izen's wife  than  I  do  with  regard  to  Polly.  I  despise  all 
this  domestic  purity  business  as  the  lowest  depth  of  nar- 
row,  selfish,   sensual,  wife-grabbing  vulgarity. 

Mrs  George  [rising  promptly]  Oh,  indeed.  Then 
youre  not  coming  home  with  me,  young  man.  I'm  sorry; 
for  its  refreshing  to  have  met  once  in  my  life  a  man  who 
wasnt  frightened  by  my  wedding  ring;  but  I'm  looking 
out  for  a  friend  and  not  for  a  French  marquis ;  so  youre 
not  coming  home  with  me. 

Hotchkiss   [inexorably]     Yes,  I  am. 

Mrs  George.     No. 

Hotchkiss.  Yes.  Think  again.  You  know  your  set 
pretty  well,  I  suppose,  your  petty  tradesmen's  set.  You 
know  all  its  scandals  and  hypocrisies,  its  jealousies  and 
squabbles,  its  hundred  of  divorce  cases  that  never  come 
into  court,  as  well  as  its  tens  that  do. 

Mrs  George.  We're  not  angels.  I  know  a  few  scan- 
dals; but  most  of  us  are  too  dull  to  be  anything  but 
good. 

Hotchkiss.  Then  you  must  have  noticed  that  just 
as  all  murderers,  judging  by  their  edifying  remarks  on 
the  scaffold,  seem  to  be  devout  Christians,  so  all  liber- 
tines, both  male  and  female,  are  invariably  people  over- 


204  Getting  Married 

flowing  with  domestic  sentimentality  and  professions  of 
respect  for  the  conventions  they  violate  in  secret. 

Mrs  George.  Well,  you  dont  expect  them  to  give 
themselves  away,  do  you? 

Hotchkiss.  They  are  people  of  sentiment,  not  of 
honor.  Now,  I'm  not  a  man  of  sentiment,  but  a  man  of 
honor.  I  know  well  what  will  happen  to  me  when  once 
I  cross  the  threshold  of  your  husband's  house  and  break 
bread  with  him.  This  marriage  bond  which  I  despise 
will  bind  me  as  it  never  seems  to  bind  the  people  who 
believe  in  it,  and  whose  chief  amusement  it  is  to  go  to 
the  theatres  where  it  is  laughed  at.  Soames:  youre  a 
Communist,  arnt  you? 

Soames.  I  am  a  Christian.  That  obliges  me  to  be  a 
Communist. 

Hotchkiss.  And  you  believe  that  many  of  our  landed 
estates  were  stolen  from  the  Church  by  Henry  the 
eighth  ? 

Soames.  I  do  not  merely  believe  that:  I  know  it 
as  a  lawyer. 

Hotchkiss.  Would  you  steal  a  turnip  from  one  of 
the  landlords  of  those  stolen  lands? 

Soames  [fencing  with  the  question]  They  have  no 
right  to  their  lands. 

Hotchkiss.  Thats  not  what  I  ask  you.  Would  you 
steal  a  turnip  from  one  of  the  fields  they  have  no 
right  to? 

Soames.     I  do  not  like  turnips. 

Hotchkiss.     As  you  are  a  lawyer,  answer  me. 

Soames.  I  admit  that  I  should  probably  not  do  so. 
I  should  perhaps  be  wrong  not  to  steal  the  turnip:  I 
cant  defend  my  reluctance  to  do  so;  but  I  think  I  should 
not  do  so.     I  know  I  should  not  do  so. 

Hotchkiss.  Neither  shall  I  be  able  to  steal  George's 
wife.  I  have  stretched  out  my  hand  for  that  forbidden 
fruit  before ;  and  I  know  that  my  hand  will  always  come 


Getting  Married  20^ 

back  empty.     To  disbelieve  in  marriage  is  easy:  to  love 
a  married  woman  is  easy;  but  to  betray  a  comrade,  to/ 
be  disloyal  to  a  host,  to  break  the  covenant  of  bread  anc 
salt,  is  impossible.     You  may  take  me  home  with  yoi 
Polly:  you  have  nothing  to  fear. 

Mrs  George.     And  nothing  to  hope? 

Hotchkiss.  Since  you  put  it  in  that  more  than  kind 
way,  Polly,  absolutely  nothing. 

Mrs  George.  Hm!  Like  most  men,  you  think  you 
know  everything  a  woman  wants,  dont  you?  But  the 
thing  one  wants  most  has  nothing  to  do  with  marriage  at 
all.  Perhaps  Anthony  here  has  a  glimmering  of  it.  Eh, 
Anthony  ? 

Soames.     Christian  fellowship? 

Mrs  George.     You  call  it  that,  do  you? 

Soames.     What  do  you  call  it? 

Collins  [appearing  in  the  tower  with  the  Beadle\ 
Now,  Polly,  the  hall's  full;  and  theyre  waiting  for  you. 

The  Beadle.  Make  way  there,  gentlemen,  please. 
Way  for  the  worshipful  the  Mayoress.  If  you  please, 
my  lords  and  gentlemen.  By  your  leave,  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen :  way  for  the  Mayoress. 

Mrs  George  takes  Hotchkiss's  arm,  and  goes  out,  pre' 
ceded  by  the  Beadle. 

Soames  resumes  his  writing  tranquilly. 


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